May Day
by Onesimus42
Summary: Charles & Elsie meet before they begin working together. AU.
1. Prologue

_**I was inspired to write this based on a print called 'The Singing Butler'. Three guesses on who that made me think of and the first two don't count. It is apparently an extremely popular print in England, but I only found it recently. I hope you enjoy.**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own them and earn nothing from them.**_

**May 1, 1890 Lancaster, England**

Waking with a slight headache, Charles Carson realized that he'd made a terrible mistake the night before. Correcting himself, he decided that he had made several colossal mistakes the night before. Eyes still closed, he reflected over the past few days trying to decide when the mistakes started. When a sharp pain shot through his head again, he winced and thought that it probably started somewhere around the third or fourth glass of that 'punch'. Actually, he wasn't entirely sure that he'd done anything right over the past few days. Feeling a slight stirring beside him and a small head snuggling deeper into his shoulder, he knew that there was at least one thing he'd done right since arriving at this house.

Trying to move his head as little as possible, he stretched his hand to the side to find his watch so that he could check the time. Opening one eye gingerly, he saw that it was 4:30. He needed to wake her so that they could get to their respective rooms. The rest of the house was certain to be up and about soon. Turning his head toward her, he kissed her forehead gently and gave her shoulder a little squeeze. She woke with the slightest of starts and stretched, pressing herself tighter to his side, causing parts other than his head to stir. She opened her eyes and looked up at him with a drowsy smile and a slight wince of pain.

"Headache?" he asked very quietly.

"Mmmm," she nodded in agreement, "I suppose we shouldn't have finished off that bottle of wine."

"I think mine has a little more to do with that punch. What do they put in that stuff anyway?" he grimaced.

"A little of this and a little of that. I don't think you're supposed to drink six glasses."

He smiled a little, but only a very little as he sat up and his stomach lurched, "Is that how many I had? I lost count after four. Were you watching me that close?"

She smiled back and stretched again, pushing her chest forward and causing his breath to catch in his throat; his headache wasn't that bad. Turning from her quickly, he stood to his feet and picked up his shirt from the floor beside the mattress.

"Seems like you need someone to watch over you," she said softly.

"Perhaps I do," he agreed brusquely, "Let me help you up. We need to be getting to our rooms before someone misses us. I'd not want you to get in any trouble."

She allowed him to help her stand to her feet and stood for a moment looking into his eyes, "Thank you, Charles."

"Thank you, Elsie," he said seriously, "Um, may I help you with your corset?"

"If you wish," she answered, glancing at the floor briefly before holding her hair out of the way while he pulled her corset around her waist and worked the fastenings. She pulled her dress over her head quickly and fastened the buttons, pushing her chest forward once again. He groaned and turned around again to tuck his shirt into his trousers.

He watched as she braided her hair while he fastened his collar and knotted his tie, "I've never seen hair quite that color before. It's almost like claret."

She snorted and winced again, "I don't think you should mention any beverages except tea or milk for a while."

"Probably not," he agreed with another small smile, "You're ready?"

She nodded and turned toward the door, "We should hurry. Just because it's a holiday doesn't mean everyone isn't going to be up and about soon. Stow that blanket and bottle in the wardrobe, and I'll sneak in here to clear everything up late this afternoon."

He caught her arm before she could slip out the door, "I want to see you again before we leave. Will you have a bit of time before luncheon?"

She glanced at his shoes again and took a deep breath before looking up into his eyes and nodding, "Meet me on the bench?"

Watching her carefully, he nodded and hesitated only a moment before bending to capture her lips with a promising kiss. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment, but when he started to pull away she clutched the back of his neck to draw him to her for another kiss. He straightened after her lips slipped away from his and smiled down into her eyes before releasing her arm. Checking the hall quickly to ensure that the way was clear, he sent her on her way while he made his own way to the staircase and the men's hall.

_**Reviews are always appreciated. **_


	2. A beginning

_**Posting this a little quickly, so that you'll see how they started on the path that led to the Prologue. **_

_**Four days earlier**_

Charles watched the road ahead with an annoyed frown. He was wet. He was tired. And most importantly, he was not happy to be traveling from London to a house that was not Downton at this time of the year. He had had plans for May Day. Good plans. Plans which involved a young widow in Ripon who was just his type; tall, thin, and fair. He had bought a lovely scarf in London and was sure that if he gave it to her she would be most grateful, and he had been looking forward to that gratitude very much indeed. Although, he reflected with a small inward smile, he might find a pretty maid here who would be ready for a bit of fun. These house parties did sometimes bring an opportunity for a tumble with a willing girl and little chance of uncomfortable future encounters.

Sighing, he resigned himself to many future house parties like this one. He knew from Mr. Jerkyns that the financial situation of the Earl's household was unfortunately precarious, so he supposed they had to take any opportunity for the Viscount Downton to find a suitable and preferably wealthy bride. He also supposed he should just be happy that they had not yet considered the American option. He did not think he could tolerate some upstart from the New World as the next Countess. What he couldn't fathom was why any family would choose to have a house party on and around May Day of all days. Pulling himself out of his reverie with a start, he realized they were just entering the drive of the lovely home. Jumping down from his seat beside the driver, he opened the door quickly and pulled out the steps so that the Viscount, who would forever be 'young Master Robert' to him, could disembark. He bowed and waited until the Viscount greeted his host before pushing the steps back under the coach and closing the door, then he hopped on the back to ride around to the servants' entrance hoping that he could get everything settled in time to have a spot of tea before dressing Master Robert for dinner.

Standing outside the door, he had begun to shuffle the cases around in his arms when a maid opened the door. Smiling down into the blue-grey eyes of the ginger lass, he set his burden down just inside the door and said, "Thank you for your impeccable timing. I was just trying to decide if I should chuck one of the cases at the door to get someone's attention." Then he removed his hat to shake the water off before entering. Glancing up briefly in frustration, he could tell that blasted curl had worked its way loose again.

"Well, I'm happy to be of service then. I would have hated to have been picking men's under things up off the muddy ground for the rest of the afternoon," she retorted with a pleasing half-smile as she stepped aside to let him into the hall. "You can put your coat and hat there," she indicated a rack beside the door, "and then, if you'll follow me, I'll take you to Mr. Stevens. He'll see you settled."

Removing his coat quickly, he hung them where she indicated and picked up the cases before following her down the hall. A tall, thin, middle-aged man was just stepping off the back steps, no doubt returning from greeting the Viscount. He noted with a smidgen of pride that the man was not quite as tall as himself. The man greeted him rather perfunctorily, "Mr. Crawley, I presume?"

Charles nodded. He knew the old ways and really it didn't make sense for anyone here to learn his name for just a few days.

"I am Mr. Stevens, the butler of Holbrook House. We're not quite as grand as you're used to, but we make do. You'll be wanting to get settled as soon as possible, I suppose. Leave your master's bags here, and I'll have one of the footmen take them along with his trunks to his room." then he addressed the young maid, "Bess, you know which rooms are prepared so take him up and see him settled. After that, get some tea in him. It wouldn't do to have him catch his death."

The ginger maid beckoned him to follow, and he started after her up the narrow servants' staircase. As he enjoyed his view on the way up, he thought he might not mind this trip so much after all.

Lost in his thoughts, he missed the question posed in the soft Scottish burr. He had to ask the little maid to repeat herself and strained to understand through her accent.

She turned to him with flashing eyes, "I asked you what your name is, your real name. If it's not too much trouble for you to answer, that is."

Smiling at her, he replied, "My name is Carson, but you may call me Charles. You'd better not let Mr. Stevens hear, though. If he's around, you should stick with Mr. Crawley."

She rolled her eyes at him, "I've enough sense for that, _Charles._ You're never Charlie, then?"

"As in the Bonny Prince?" he asked with a wry smile.

"You shouldn't tweak a lass about that, Mr. Carson," she said with a mock primness that he found amusing.

"I would never tweak a lass from north of the border," he said very seriously.

"And there you've done it in the very next breath," she answered back over her shoulder.

He smiled at her back as she trotted up the last few steps. Perhaps a little ginger lass would be to his liking.

When they reached the men's hall he stepped quickly to her side, "Now you have me at a disadvantage."

She looked up at him quizzically with those sharp blue-gray eyes through thick lashes and his heart stuttered for just a moment before he caught himself and clarified, "You know my full name, and I only know your first."

"Hughes; my name is Hughes, and you don't even know my first name. It is NOT Bess," she smiled to take the sting out of her words, stopping in front of a door.

"Ahhh. Well, Miss Hughes; what is your first name? Elisabeth?"

She smiled brightly, "You are right on the first guess, Mr. Carson, but that is not what I prefer to be called."

He basked in her smile for a moment before asking, "And what would that be? Beth?"

She shook her head and wrinkled her nose.

Growing more and more enchanted by the moment, he threw out as many names as he could think of, only to meet her negative response each time, "Lizzie? Eliza? Liz? Bea?"

She shook her head one last time and opened the door they were standing in front of. "This will be your room. I don't think you'll have to share with anyone, but at any rate you're the first so take your pick of the beds. It gets a bit nippy up here at night so I suggest the one closest to the radiator," she added conspiratorially.

He opened the door and surveyed the room. Choosing the bed closest to the radiator would put him farthest from the door. Turning back to smile down at her flirtatiously, he said, "The problem with that, Miss Hughes, is that would put me the farthest from seeking other sources of warmth."

Her eyes went cold and her smile faded as she caught his meaning. "Well, I'm sure that you'll be able to keep warm somehow, Mr. Carson. If you'll excuse me I have other duties to attend to."

He caught her arm and then dropped his hand when she cut through him with daggers from her eyes. "Now, Miss Hughes, we were having a pleasant conversation. I didn't mean to insult you. Please forgive me or we'll have a very unpleasant few days ahead of us."

"Mr. Carson, if you need something to warm your bed, I suggest a hot water bottle. If you'll excuse me, I'll go down to the servants' hall to prepare you a little tea. I trust you'll not have any trouble finding your way back," with that pronouncement, she turned on her heel and walked away.

Raising his eyebrow at her back, he shook his head before entering his room, trying to decide if that nice round bottom and flashing blue-grey eyes were worth the risk of being sliced to death by her sharp tongue. His decision was made for him when his thoughts quickly turned to other things he'd rather she do with that tongue.

This could be a very pleasant trip indeed.

_**Reviews are welcome.**_


	3. His proper place

_**I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter, and I hope the way I have it planned out explains a lot of the questions that you've had. **_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own them and never will.**_

It took Charles much longer than he wanted to get settled in his room. He had to brush the mud off the bottom of his trouser legs to make himself presentable, and then there had been the deplorable state of his hair. It was barely manageable at the best of times and now the rain had made it nearly impossible. That one curl in the front was being particularly stubborn. He had been tempted to just cut the blasted thing off but knew that would probably make things worse. By the time he was clean and had subjugated his hair, he looked at his watch and was sure that the Viscount would have made his greetings to the master of the house and be heading to his room in search of a hot bath. Berating himself for not having Miss Hughes show him how to get to the Viscount's room, he set out hoping to stumble across the correct set of rooms. Thankfully, he ran into help in the form of a friendly footman and made it to his master's room in an acceptable amount of time.

By the time Master Robert made his own way to his room, Charles had his bath drawn and was only waiting to add the hot water at the last moment.

Charles busied himself with brushing off his master's evening wear while waiting for him to finish bathing, thinking about how much he would like to have a hot cup of tea and biscuits. He also attempted to formulate a plan of how to get into the good graces of the lass with the lovely eyes and wondered what her name could be.

Viscount Downton as always was very talkative; after Charles finished shaving him, of course. He was most curious about any gossip Charles might have picked up, "Have you heard anything about Miss Evangeline? She is the second daughter. Miss Holbrook is already engaged to Sir Charles Wentworth. He'll be here this weekend as well."

In response to his curiosity, Charles regretted to answer, "No, sir, I haven't had a chance to hear any news, but I will keep my ears open. Is it Miss Evangeline you are most interested in hearing of, sir?"

The Viscount's face twisted in a grim smile, "My father wants me to be most interested in her. We shall see how these next days go. As for keeping your ears open, I'm sure you will, Carson," he added with a hint of irony, "You always do. And have you found yourself a pretty maid yet?"

He cleared his throat, "I don't know what you mean, sir."

"Come now, Carson," the Viscount said with a roll of his eyes as Charles concentrated on his tie, "There always seems to be some young maid with tear-filled eyes at the end of one of these house parties."

"Here the young maids have Scottish accents and tempers to match," Charles answered carefully, "It might be safest if I spent my time reading. I did pick up a new book in London, by Mr. Stevenson, ironically."

The Viscount snorted softly and nodded his approval at his appearance in the mirror, "Perhaps that will give you something to discuss with your Scottish maid. Then I shall look forward to hearing how you've improved your mind by the end of our visit."

Charles appraised the Viscount's appearance critically before lifting the brush to whisk a piece of lint off his shoulder, "I will endeavor to remember as much as I can to edify your mind as well, sir."

The Viscount went down for dinner while Charles remained behind to straighten up the room a bit more and lay out the nightclothes. With one final look around the room, he decided it was time to make his way to the servants' hall for his own dinner.

He opened the door to the back stairs and almost ran into his pretty maid with the blue-grey eyes who was hurrying down the stairs with a dress draped over her arm.

"I am sorry, Miss Hughes," he apologized quickly, "I wanted to see you again, but I had no intentions of knocking you down. May I be of any assistance?"

She shook her head at him in mild annoyance, "No, I need to get this down to the laundry right away. Miss Evangeline wants to wear this tomorrow so it needs to be pressed as soon as possible."

His ears perked up a bit at the mention of her mistress, and he looked at her with a puzzled frown, "I didn't know you were a ladies' maid. From the way Mr. Stevens spoke with you, I thought you were a housemaid."

"I am both, Mr. Carson. I serve as Miss Evangeline's ladies' maid and as head housemaid."

Charles tucked this bit of information away. If the house had maids doing double-duty, then perhaps they were not as well-situated financially as the Earl and Master Robert clearly believed they were.

"Let me take that for you," he said, scooping the dress into his arms and then quieting her protest, "I need to know where the laundry is as well, so you can show me while I carry this for you."

She regarded him suspiciously for a moment before nodding briskly and starting back down the steps.

"Why did you want to see me again, Mr. Carson?" she asked over her shoulder.

"To apologize, of course," he answered around the masses of fabric in his arms, "I'm afraid that I offended you, and I had no intention of doing so."

He couldn't see her, but was fairly sure that he could hear the roll of her eyes in her voice, "You're certainly not the first man to flirt with me, Mr. Carson. You're just a little bolder than most."

"And there I've done it again," he said with a smile in his own voice, "I seem to have a talent for getting on your bad side. I did not mean to imply that no one had ever flirted with you before."

By this time, they'd made it to the bottom of the steps and she started down the hall at a brisk pace with him following.

"Mr. Carson, you aren't on either my bad side or my good side. You are a valet caring for a guest in this house for the next three days, and I will most likely not ever see you again. I don't see that it's really worth my time to expend my efforts in either disliking you or liking you."

He stopped short at that. He wasn't used to being so summarily dismissed. "Well, I suppose that's shown me off. I'm glad I brought a book to read."

"That is probably for the best," she nodded, "And here is the laundry, Mr. Carson. Thank you for your help."

He passed the dress back to her and bowed stiffly. No matter how nice she was about it, it still rankled him to be found inconsequential. He was used to women, well, liking him. He had a decent sense of humor; he wasn't completely ugly; he was tall; and he'd been told he had a nice voice. Yet, this woman found him to be of so little consequence that she couldn't even be bothered to dislike him. She was definitely hard on a man's ego.

Turning on his heel, he reconciled himself to searching for a bit of food before dinner, and he supposed he'd need to find a hot water bottle as well. His gaze was drawn down the hall to see Mr. Stevens standing where he had apparently witnessed the entire humiliating conversation. The butler nodded at him stiffly before turning back into his pantry.

Perhaps this trip wouldn't be as pleasant as he thought.

_**Reviews are always welcome.**_


	4. A stumble

**_I hope you enjoy Charles & Elsie getting to know each other a little better. This may be the last update for a couple of days. Easter has me a little distracted._**

**_Disclaimer: Not mine and never will be (although I did ask the Easter bunny for them). They belong to Julian Fellowes and I receive nothing from them._**

Charles was unsure whether it was good fortune or bad to be seated beside Miss Hughes at dinner. This was a rather small house party, so there was only one other visiting valet who was sitting beside the older daughter's maid. The other maid was slim and fair and he supposed rather pretty, but he couldn't quite remember her name. Meg? Maude? Maggie? As he was contemplating this, Miss Hughes arm brushed lightly against his. The table was fairly crowded which forced them to sit rather closely. While it didn't seem to bother her in the slightest, when his leg bumped hers under the table or she pressed against him for a moment to reach the bread, he could barely think. What had him the most out of sorts, however, was that he only had to turn his head slightly toward her to get a whiff of lemon from her hair. While she spoke to him pleasantly enough, he just couldn't get out of his mind that he meant absolutely nothing to her. She was treating him just as she had no doubt treated many servants who were to be here for a short time, commenting occasionally on the weather and the food, but for the most part silently enjoying her meal. He didn't really fancy the idea that he was just another valet to her. He couldn't understand why it bothered him so much. He had never thought of himself as a particularly vain man, but he very much wanted her to either be attracted to him or hate him. At the moment, he couldn't decide which would be preferable.

He turned his head to comment to her on the tastiness of the lamb stew and happened to see Mr. Stevens watching them with a smug smile on his face. Looking back down at his plate, he wondered what exactly was going on there. Mr. Stevens seemed to spend quite a bit of time tracking Miss Hughes's movements. There was no doubt there was interest on one side in that relationship. Was Miss Hughes interested as well? That would explain her ambivalence to him. He stole a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. She was smiling as she spoke across the table to the other ladies' maid. Peeking at her surreptitiously several times, he never saw her look toward Mr. Stevens at the head of the table. There didn't seem to be any attraction on her side, or maybe she was just exceptionally good at hiding her feelings. He was inwardly a little pleased. Mr. Stevens looked to be in his mid-fifties, much too old for Miss Hughes, who couldn't be much more than twenty-five. It would be more fitting for her to be attracted to someone closer to her own age, but a few years older and established, who would be able to care for her appropriately. Someone in his mid-thirties, like himself, would be just about perfect. Of course, that would involve her thinking him actually worthy of her notice he thought in disgust. Suddenly the lamb stew wasn't quite as tasty and when pudding came, he just pushed it away.

"You don't care for sweets, Mr. Carson?" she asked with a curious glance at him.

He pulled his book from his pocket, "I'm full tonight and anxious to get started on my reading. If I could just find a quiet spot, I would be out of your way."

"There's a bench outside," she said and glanced up the table at Mr. Stevens, "I wouldn't mind going out for a short walk after dinner, and I could show you." Then she turned back to her plate, obviously enjoying the pudding.

Charles smiled at the pleasure she was obviously taking in her sweet and nodded in gratitude. Actually, he decided his appetite had returned a little and pulled his own plate back toward him to have a bite or two.

Once they'd both finished their roly-poly, with Charles assiduously studying his plate for every crumb, they made their way outside to a quiet bench. The rain had stopped and it was a pleasant evening with just a hint of chill in the air. Charles saw that the bench was indeed well-situated and would be ideal for a little quiet reading. There was a full moon tonight which would make it easy, but even if there weren't there was enough light spilling from the window above the bench that he could have read.

He turned toward Miss Hughes with a pleased look on his face, "This was just what I was hoping for; a bit of quiet after the travel."

She gave him what he thought was the first genuinely happy smile he'd seen on her face and again his heart stuttered for a few beats, "I come out here when I can. It's quiet and I'm sometimes able to steal away long enough to read a chapter. Was your journey very difficult?"

He shook his head, "Not very, although we did come from London. Almost three hours on the train and then a three-quarter hour carriage ride here, most of the way in the rain. It can be a little trying."

She nodded and the merest hint of a smile played around her lips and eyes, "Almost four hours of travel, the last bit in the rain and no rest until just now. I can see that it wasn't a difficult journey at all."

She glanced down longingly at the bench for a moment before looking back at him and resuming her brisk manner, "Well, I'll leave you to it, then. You'd best not stay long, but if I hear the Viscount's bell ring before you've come in, I'll fetch you."

"Would you care to sit with me for a moment?" he asked, "I think I'm a little too tired to concentrate on reading right now. I promise we won't stay out more than ten minutes." He held up his pocket watch for her to see.

Her hesitation was almost non-existent before she sat down on one end of the bench with her body turned slightly toward him. He sat down on the opposite end and let his arm rest along the back with the tips of his fingers inches from her shoulder.

She looked out over the courtyard, and he followed her cue. After all the noise of travel and the bustle since he'd arrived, he enjoyed the quiet. There was no awkwardness in their silence, and it was much better than sitting by himself. When his heart had finally slowed and he felt utterly at peace, she shook herself and broke the silence.

"I am sorry, Mr. Carson. I've not been very companionable," she spoke quietly, as though almost afraid to interrupt the night, "but it's so nice to just sit for a moment."

He chuckled, "I was just thinking the same thing myself, Miss Hughes. I don't think you need to worry about being companionable. It's not as though you'll know me for more than a few days."

She clicked her tongue at him, "And there you go throwing my own words back at me again. Are all Yorkshire men this troublesome?"

"Are all Scots women so stubborn?" he threw back at her.

"Of course we are," she said with a smile, "how do you think we resisted the English invaders for so long?"

"Well, now, if I recall my history the English did eventually overcome the resistance," he answered back seriously.

"That is the English version, Mr. Carson," she matched his tone, "I can assure you that we are merely biding our time."

"Until when?" he asked.

"Why, until we are ready to take over, of course," she answered.

He laughed softly and leaned back against the bench again. It was a pleasant night, and he certainly hoped for a better tomorrow. Closing his eyes, he enjoyed the night air for a few more moments before he opened one eye to look at her, "Helga?"

"Beg pardon?" she asked, looking at him in utter confusion.

"It just struck me that you might prefer to be called by your middle name," he said to explain himself and then raised his eyebrows at her, "So, Helga?"

She burst out into laughter, and he was certain his heart actually stopped for a moment.

"No, Mr. Carson," she said when she had caught her breath, "I do not wish to be called Helga and that is not my middle name."

"Fiona? Ina? Prudence? Ethel?"

The last name had her shaking her head vehemently. He sighed and leaned back against the bench. She opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her with an upraised hand, "I'm sure if I have enough time, I'll figure it out."

"But you only have three days, Mr. Carson," she answered seriously.

He nodded thoughtfully and said very seriously, "I suppose it is not imperative that I learn your name, but the curiosity will likely drive me to distraction. I shall blame you if the Viscount has mis-matched socks tomorrow."

She smiled at him companionably and then stood to her feet, "I've kept you from your book too long, Mr. Carson. This has been very pleasant, but I really must get back to my duties."

Rising quickly himself, he stood facing her. He blinked at her in silence for a heartbeat before remembering that he did indeed have a book in his pocket. "Not at all, Miss Hughes. Actually, I should probably come in with you. It likely won't be long before the Viscount will want to go to bed. I'm sure it's been a tiring day for him as well."

They started toward the door before Charles off-handedly made perhaps the most stupid comment of his life, "And, of course, I'll still need to find a way to warm my bed tonight."

She had been walking slowly with her arms akimbo but stiffened suddenly at his comment. Wrapping her arms tightly around herself, she quickened her pace toward the door. He was so surprised by her sudden change in demeanor that he didn't have time to react. The door shut sharply behind her, and it was the only thing which heard his next words, "I meant a hot water bottle."

He thumped the wall beside the door lightly with his fist before stepping through. Glancing toward the back staircase, he glimpsed the swish of a skirt and a slim ankle disappearing around the corner. He now knew whether he preferred for her to be attracted to him or to hate him. Sighing, he turned toward the servants' hall and met Mr. Stevens' steady gaze.

This was definitely going to be a long trip.

_**Reviews are always welcome**_


	5. A fresh start

_**I hope everyone had a happy Easter. I've been working on this in between visiting in-laws, so bear with any mistakes please.**_

_**Disclaimer: Don't belong to me and never will.**_

By the time that Charles had seen the Viscount to bed and taken his evening wear to the laundry to brush off and press for the following day, it was nearly midnight. The master of the house's valet had helped him to procure a hot water bottle to keep him warm, and he only needed to fill it to be able to go to bed. As tired as he was, however, he still wasn't sure that he would get any sleep. He had been getting along wonderfully with his lovely maid until he'd stuck his foot in his mouth, and considering the size of his foot that was quite a feat. He had merely meant to tease her about her earlier comment, but she no doubt thought he was either propositioning her again or planning on finding some other maid to warm his bed. In their short conversations, he found that he liked her and if he was not to have his 'bit of fun' on this trip, he thought he could at least enjoy her friendship. The thought that he'd caused her to probably actively despise and distrust him after their pleasant conversation on the bench nearly made him sick. He needed something to calm him down before he attempted to sleep. It was to that end that he made his way back to the staff kitchen with hot water bottle in hand hoping to find a way to boil a little water for a cup of tea and for his bottle. Surely, everyone, and especially those blue-grey eyes, would be asleep or nearly so by now.

He was surprised, then, when he heard the stern butler speaking urgently followed by the soft tones of her voice with just a hint of strain. He paused at the bottom of the stairs to get a look and noticed that Mr. Stevens was standing with his hand on her arm and by her body language it was obvious that she wanted to be anywhere but there. In a split second decision of chivalry, he decided to put his 'skills' to good use.

Tripping on the bottom step, he careened between the couple and directly into the butler, making sure to bring his heel down firmly on the other man's left foot. Struggling to right himself he fortunately was able to grasp the older man's sleeve, causing a slight rip.

"I'm terribly sorry, sir," he apologized profusely, "I'm afraid my foot caught on the bottom step. Is it a bit loose? You really should have someone look at that."

The older man's response was immediate and almost overwhelming, "You certainly are sorry! Jerkyns's standards must be slipping drastically if he tolerates a clumsy buffoon like you in his household."

Charles straightened so that he was squarely between the young Miss Hughes and the old leech and agreed, "Certainly, sir. I agree wholeheartedly, sir. I'd be happy to stitch up your sleeve if you'll allow me."

"I will take care of it myself," he said before turning away sharply, "There's no telling what damage that you would do with a needle and thread."

Charles stood respectfully at attention until Mr. Stevens had rounded the corner and then turned around to look into a pair of surprised but amused blue-grey eyes, "Miss Hughes, I trust that you are unharmed?"

"I am, Mr. Carson," she agreed with a small nod, "But are you unharmed? I had no idea that bottom step was so dangerous. To think that I go up and down those steps dozens of times each day, and I can't recall tripping even once."

He nodded carefully, "I'm not hurt a bit, except for my pride. Perhaps the step is not so dangerous, and I am just particularly clumsy."

She gave him a disbelieving look and said, "I can see that you are a very clumsy man, but thank you all the same."

"And what do you have to thank me for, Miss Hughes?" he asked.

She took a deep breath and answered him very seriously, "For saving me from a difficult situation, of course. Why are you up so late? I was sure you'd be in bed with someone or something to warm it."

"That is exactly why I have come downstairs," he answered and indicated the hot water bottle in his hand, "This is what I meant I needed to find earlier."

"Oh," she said, blinking at him in surprise, "I was certain you meant Madge."

"Madge?"

"Miss Holbrook's maid," she answered his questioning look, "you were looking at her quite a bit during dinner."

"I was?" he asked in confusion, "Oh, is she the blond one, with the um, well the very serious look, as though she'd just eaten a lemon?"

A snort escaped before she clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle it, and he grinned broadly, "Why were you noticing who I was looking at?"

Her cheeks tinted faintly, and Charles's heart surged with hope. Instead of answering, she started toward the kitchen, "Come along and I'll help you get some hot water for your bottle. Would you like to have a little tea to warm you as well?"

"I would dearly love a little tea and perhaps a biscuit or two?" he said smiling at her back and starting to follow her.

He could hear her smile in her voice as she asked, "So you have a sweet tooth, do you?"

"Not a sweet tooth," he answered, "I'm just rather fond of biscuits. And cake. And, well, my favorite is apple tart."

She laughed then, "Obviously, no sweet tooth at all." By this time they had reached the kitchen, and she reached up for a spirit lamp on a shelf. When he saw what she was reaching for, he stretched around her and lifted it off.

"Miss Hughes, you must allow me to be of assistance. I have an excess of height and would be glad to help you in any way that I am able."

She looked at him for a moment seriously, obviously understanding that he meant more than lifting things off of shelves for her.

"Thank you, Mr. Carson; I will keep that in mind. You've already been a great deal of help. Now, if you'll come with me, we'll fill that," she indicated his hot water bottle, "from the boiler."

Catching her arm before she could walk away, he glanced around for curious eyes or ears. It wouldn't do to be overheard. "Are you quite safe? That is, I have heard stories of some houses."

Placing her hand on his upper arm, she cut him off quickly, "Oh, no. Mr. Stevens would never… At least, I don't believe that he would ever do anything improper. And Mrs. Reynolds keeps a sharp eye out for that sort of thing. It's just that he has a fancy to retire and run a small inn. He would like someone to help him and apparently believes that I would suit his needs perfectly. It has been a little difficult to convince him that I'd rather not marry him just to be his helper."

He gave a short nod of relief and straightened. He waited for her to continue before resuming the conversation, "I have no doubt you'd make an excellent assistant in any endeavor, but it seems a rather poor reason to choose a spouse."

She glanced up at him from the corner of her eye, "Never tell me you believe in all that romantic nonsense. Not after you hinted at the need for a bed warmer."

"Now that was just a bit of testing of the waters," he said defensively, "You made it obvious that you're not interested, and I'll accept that. I'm not interested in finding someone to love. I've made up my mind for a career in service, but sometimes one likes to have a bit of fun. I don't think I could ever marry someone without love, however."

Her cheeks tinted and, as they'd now come into the boiler room, she stepped over to the boiler where there was a small tap. She gestured for the hot water bottle and had it filled in a moment. She handed the bottle back to him before saying, "Mr. Carson, I suggest that you don't try to look for 'a bit of fun' here. Mrs. Reynolds runs a tight house, and she would not take kindly to that. But as to your second point, I don't see why there would have to be love to make a happy marriage. It seems to me that two people who are, well, friendly with each other, could do just as well."

They started back to the kitchen and he said, "Miss Hughes, I will gladly take your advice and confine myself to my book since it would probably be best to not be on the bad side of both the butler and the housekeeper. As to your belief that all is needed for a happy marriage is friendly feelings, well, we'll just have to disagree on that."

She was kept from responding by seeing that the kettle was boiling and busied herself with gathering the tea things. He saw the tea on a shelf above her head and lifted it down to her while she got the pot and two mugs ready. She wet the tea and then searched the cupboard for biscuits. Returning with a small tin, she saw that he had added milk to both their mugs and was pouring tea first in hers and then his own. She noticed the two large spoonfuls of honey he put into his cup with amusement and put a few of the biscuits on a plate. She spooned a tiny amount of honey into her mug before joining him at the table where he stood waiting patiently for her to sit.

Once they'd sat down, she resumed their conversation, "I suppose there's no harm in a disagreement between friends. But surely you don't believe in such nonsense as love at first sight or true love. That's just silly for our sort."

He lifted an eyebrow at her, "Are we to be friends now? By your point then, you and I could be happily married since we have friendly feelings toward each other, and we don't even call each other by our first names."

Her eyes widened in surprise and her cheeks became furiously red, though whether from anger or embarrassment, he couldn't be sure, "Surely you know I didn't mean…"

"Yes, yes, of course," he said, cutting her off, "I didn't intend to offend you yet again. I was just trying to make a point. Please don't take it the wrong way."

She took a deep breath and picked up one of the biscuits to nibble on. "You do seem to have a talent for upsetting me. Do you do this to every woman you meet?"

"No," he said pointedly, picking up one of the biscuits for himself, "just the stubborn ones who won't even tell me their name."

"Elsie."

"Beg pardon?"

"My family and friends have always called me Elsie," she clarified, "please don't let Mr. Stevens hear that though. The mistress here prefers Bess, and he will not allow anything else."

"Elsie," he said softly, "Am I to be counted among the lucky few that you call friend?"

"Yes, Charles," she answered with an arched eyebrow of her own, "I believe that you and I could be friends. As long as you don't mind missing out on your 'bit of fun."

"I won't mind in the slightest," he said with a broad grin, "I have an excellent bed warmer already," and he held up his hot water bottle with a flourish.

She laughed softly before taking another sip of tea and nodded.

He thought that this might turn out to be a pleasant trip after all.

_**Reviews are always welcome.**_


	6. Entangled

_**Sorry for the delay in updating, but hopefully the slightly longer chapter will make up for it.**_

Charles's day had begun badly and was getting progressively worse. He had been late to breakfast earning himself glares from both the butler and housekeeper. His lateness had also forced him to sit several places away from Elsie, making any snatches of conversation impossible. To make matters worse, he had to sit beside Madge, who seemed to be a bit more interested in him than was likely safe. The better part of the meal was spent trying to keep his leg away from hers and pulling his arm back when hers brushed his. He couldn't be impolite to Madge but noticed that Elsie seemed to be almost glaring at him at times. When Madge was preoccupied with her porridge, he looked up and attempted to catch Elsie's eye to send her an apologetic glance. She was studiously avoiding looking at him, however, and speaking to some annoyingly light-haired, square-jawed man sitting beside her. As though all of that wasn't bad enough, he caught Mr. Stevens looking at him with a grim smile while fingering his left sleeve. Perhaps he had gone a little far in actually ripping the man's sleeve, but the butler shouldn't have been bothering his Elsie. He had had a spoonful of porridge halfway to his mouth when that thought struck him, and he paused in astonishment. _His Elsie? _Where had that idea come from? They were on their way to becoming friends and would remain so, nothing more. She had made her wishes clear, and he certainly didn't want any entanglements, and any relationship in which he considered her 'his' would definitely be an entanglement. Mentally shaking himself to clear these thoughts, he bent to his breakfast again to try to get as much in his belly before having to begin his day's work.

He jumped up almost gratefully when the Viscount's bell rang despite having eaten only half his porridge. Taking the steps two at a time, he quickly made his way to Master Robert's room wondering how quickly he could get him shaved, dressed, and ready for the hunt. If he finished quickly perhaps he could go to the bench outside and avoid seeing those enticing blue-grey eyes for the better part of the day. He cautioned himself to slow down. It would do no good to slice off the Viscount's ear in his haste.

Getting him into his riding attire was no trouble at all but shaving him was another matter entirely. The Viscount was blessed, or cursed depending on one's point of view, with curls that were only slightly less intractable than Charles's. Charles ended up having to trim just a bit of his hair to produce the desired effect. His lordship took this time to quiz him on any new information that he might have found. Charles was able to impart the interesting information about the double duty of the head housemaid who also served as Miss Evangeline's maid. The Viscount was taken enough with the young lady that he didn't seem to mind.

"Is that such a terribly unusual thing for a younger daughter?" he asked, "I would think being a ladies' maid would be rather simple. That is, all the maid has to do is help the lady dress and bathe. Surely it wouldn't be too difficult for her to attend to other duties as well. Actually, they're probably doing the girl a service. She'd likely not have enough to do and be bored."

Charles was glad at that moment that his back was to the Viscount so that he couldn't see the disbelieving look on his face. Surely that would be considered impertinent, and he knew the Viscount really wasn't being unkind; he just had no idea what he was saying. When he was sure that he had his voice under control, he answered, "Yes, milord."

"Just between you and I Carson, I believe that Miss Evangeline might be the one. She is a lovely creature and has the most delightful laugh. If I can just have a bit of time alone with her, I could be sure," he turned his head to the side to examine his hair, "I believe that you've outdone yourself, Carson. I don't think my hair has ever laid this flat."

Charles inclined his head slightly and held the Viscount's coat for him. When he had shrugged into the coat, Master Robert looked down at his sleeve and said, "Is this the coat that I tore last month at Blenheim? I can't even see the repair."

Charles nodded, carefully keeping the pride from his voice, "Yes, milord. It is the same coat. I knew it was your especial favorite sir, so I took great care with it."

The Viscount examined his profile in the mirror. Charles stepped forward to examine him for minute traces of lint which he brushed off quickly. A smile played around Master Robert's lips for a moment before he asked, "Have you done much reading, Carson?"

The brush paused almost imperceptivity before Charles answered, "No, sir, I have not had the time to begin my book. Perhaps while everyone is out of the house on the hunt today I'll have my chance."

Master Robert's smile broadened slightly, "And how are the maids with 'the Scottish accents and tempers to match'?"

Charles's lips tightened before he answered carefully, "I am not sure milord. I have not had the opportunity to speak to any this morning."

"I see" the Viscount said, his smile now smug, "Well, best of luck to you then."

Charles wisely chose not to answer, and the Viscount left the room eager to get started on the hunt.

Charles tidied the room, storing the pyjamas and dressing gown carefully. Then glancing around, he decided that it would probably be best to prepare the room for his master's return. He would likely be muddy, tired, and ready for a warm bath and change of clothes. He had gotten out a change of clothes and was in the adjoining bathing room cleaning and sharpening the razor when he realized he'd left the clippers in the other room. Stepping through the door with razor in hand, he was blessed with the most delightful sight of his life and unfortunately dropped the razor to the floor in his surprise.

Elsie started from her position where she was kneeling to apparently search for something under the bed and bumped her head rather hard on the side. She gave a small cry of pain and then started to actually back toward him before she stood up. He stopped breathing but stopped himself just short of groaning out loud before he recovered himself and stepped to her side to help her up.

"Miss Hughes," he said, "I am terribly sorry. I didn't mean to surprise you. I had no idea anyone was in here. You work very quietly."

"It doesn't take a lot of noise to make a bed, Mr. Carson," she responded with emphasis on his name.

"Well, _Elsie_, if you were making the bed," he asked with raised eyebrows for emphasis, "why were you on your knees?"

"Because, _Charles_," she answered with a small smile, "something fell off the bed while I was making it."

"Since your hands are empty," he said, "you obviously didn't retrieve it."

He kneeled quickly at her feet and reached under the edge of the bed. It took only a moment for his hand to find a square object which he withdrew to see that it was a book. His mouth dropped when he saw the title of the book, however, and he was very grateful that Elsie had not found it. He couldn't believe the Viscount even knew about this book, much less had read it. Stuffing the book quickly into his jacket pocket, he rose to his feet and smiled down at Elsie.

"What was it?"

His answer was a bit too quick, but the image of her kneeling on the floor blended with some of his remembrance of the content of the book to cloud his judgment, "Just a book."

She looked at him curiously, "What sort of book?"

"Oh, just a silly novel. I'm sure the Viscount would rather no one know he reads such things," he said, and decided that was the biggest understatement of his life. The Viscount would probably be mortified if anyone knew he read such things. "May I assist you in making the bed?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, but obviously decided to let the matter drop for now, "I'm perfectly capable of making the bed myself."

"I did not mean to imply that you were not," he said with a small nod, "but you must admit that it is easier with help."

She nodded and he crossed to the other side to help her pull and straighten the sheets, blanket, and coverlet. After a moment, she asked him just a trace too casually, "Did you enjoy your breakfast, Charles?"

"I did, Elsie," he answered, matching her light tone, "but not my companion. Who was that sitting next to you?"

"Gertie, she's one of the housemaids."

He rolled his eyes at her in exasperation, "I meant the one on the other side."

"Oh, you mean James," she said with a tiny smile playing around her lips, "he's one of the grooms. Why do you mind who sits beside me?"

"I mind," he said tugging the coverlet forcefully, "because that is the seat I wished to occupy. And are you friendly with James?"

She arched an eyebrow at his impertinence, but answered anyway, "Friendly enough, I suppose."

A muscle in his jaw twitched, "I see."

They had finished with making the bed by this point, and she started toward the door. Looking back over her shoulder, she said softly, "But he calls me Bess."

His heart soared, and he stepped close enough to her to catch her hand, "Will you save me a seat at luncheon?"

She looked down at their linked hands for a moment, "You mustn't be tardy if you want to choose your place."

He was prevented from answering by the door opening to allow the entrance of the housekeeper. Dropping Elsie's hand quickly, he straightened and met the stern woman's eyes squarely.

"What is going on in here?"

Elsie dropped a quick curtsey and answered quickly, "I was just leaving, Mrs. Reynolds. Mr. Crawley was kind enough to help me make the bed."

The housekeeper's gaze was turned on him, and he fought the urge to squirm. He felt ridiculously like he had been caught nicking biscuits from the kitchen.

"Are you Grace Carson's boy?" she asked after a moment.

At any other time he might have protested being called a boy at the age of thirty-eight, but for now he just wanted out of this conversation as quickly as possible, "Yes, ma'am."

"I thought so. You have the look of her about you," she said with a short nod, "Well, I know that Bess has other duties right now and no doubt you have some work you could do as well."

He nodded, "Yes, ma'am."

"Then see that you do it," she said sternly, "Bess, come along now." And she stood by the door waiting for Elsie to exit ahead of her. The housekeeper glared back at Charles one last time before following Elsie out the door.

Charles took a deep breath and let his shoulders sag in relief while assessing his situation. He was now firmly on the bad side of both the butler and the housekeeper. He was certainly going to have to watch his step. There was also no doubt that he was firmly entangled with his beautiful Scottish maid. However, she allowed him to call her Elsie when she apparently allowed no one else here that privilege, and she had not objected to his holding her hand.

Smiling to himself, he decided that those last two facts were worth the ire of the heads of staff, and he didn't mind being entangled at all.

This was certainly going to be an interesting trip.

_**Reviews are welcome. **_


	7. Playing with fire

_**Thanks so much for all your reviews and alerts. I have been sans computer this weekend and a little under the weather today, so please excuse any mistakes.**_

_**Disclaimer: I still do not own them and earn nothing from them.**_

Charles realized quickly that the best thing about luncheon was that the butler was going to be absent. He was serving the midday meal to the gentry at the folly on the grounds. Charles hated these types of meals at Downton. They were always the most difficult to manage. To be out of doors and out of one's element while serving was completely disconcerting. Observing the mechanics from the outside, as it were, however, was very interesting. Luncheon for the staff that remained at the house including the maids, himself, and Sir Charles's valet, George, consisted of bread and a pot of soup in the servants' hall. It was a hearty soup and filling, but the best part for him was that he only had to deal with the glares of the housekeeper since the butler would be busy at the folly throughout luncheon.

He was also able to secure his spot beside Elsie because there was no groom in sight either. The square-jawed hulk must have to be on the grounds dealing with horses at the hunt. Charles just felt like his day was getting better and better. If the housekeeper had not been glaring at him, he might have hummed. Despite the watchful eye of the housekeeper, he was able to steal several glances at Elsie and let his knee rest casually against hers. When he had left it there for just a moment too long, she nudged it away with her own and shot him a surreptitious glare through her eyelashes. The small smile on her lips and pink tinge to her cheeks made him think that she didn't find his advances entirely unwelcome however. What he wasn't prepared for was what happened while he was speaking across the table to George. He almost jumped out of his seat, and his voice did rise very slightly in pitch when he felt the light caress of her foot on the back of his calf. The sensation was gone almost as soon as he felt it, and he could have almost convinced himself he imagined it had he not stolen a sideways glance at her. The way that she was studiously applying herself to her soup made him certain of her guilt. The housekeeper looked at him suspiciously, and he quickly devoted himself to his soup as well.

When luncheon was over, he decided that his best course of action would be to slip outside to the bench for a bit of quiet and perhaps to get started on his book. He sat down with a sigh and after a moment's rest withdrew the book from his pocket. Before he could even look down at it, however, he heard footsteps and looked up to his surprised joy to see Elsie approaching. He stood and waited while she sat down on the bench. This time she sat a little more toward the middle of the bench, so he followed suit. He was not quite beside her, but not scrunched up against the opposite end either. She looked down at the book in his hand, and asked, "Is that the book that you've brought to read? _**Fanny Hill**_? What sort of book is that?"

His face flushed furiously and he looked down at the book in his hand in surprise. In his distraction, he must have put his book in Master Robert's bedside table and this one in his pocket. It would never do for Elsie to find out what sort of book this was. Then he realized exactly how big of a quandary he was in. If he denied that this book was his, she might realize that it was the Viscount's, exposing him to gossip. If he pretended that it was his, she might find out what sort of book it was and despise him for it. He was going to have to make sure the Viscount paid for the uncomfortable situation that he'd put him in in a very subtle way.

"Charles?"

He was startled out of his reverie and realized that he had taken too long to answer the question, "Elsie, this is not the sort of book that I could really explain to someone like you."

"Why not? Do you not believe that I could understand it?" she asked with a bit of heat in her voice and blood rushed to Charles's nether regions as the picture of her understanding and putting into practice some of the things in the book sprang into his mind.

"Um, ah, that is, it is not the type of book that a lady should read or indeed even have knowledge of," he said evasively, with his face growing progressively more red.

"I am not a lady, Mr. Carson," she said with an arched eyebrow.

His mouth dropped open, but he refused to believe that she knew exactly what she was saying, "I believe that you are a lady, at least in the way that I mean the word. If you were not, you would have taken me up on my suggestion of a need for a bed warmer."

She blushed now herself and gave him a short nod, "I suppose I am then, but if this book," and she indicated it with a wave of her hand, "has such unfitting material in it, why are you reading it?"

"I am not reading..." he exclaimed before he could stop himself, then tried to salvage the situation, "that is, I have, many years ago, when I was less respectable than I am now, read this book, but I would not read it now." He thought back to his time on the stage with embarrassment but banished those thoughts. It would do no good to dwell on that now. "I merely picked up this book for a friend. I must have put the wrong book in my pocket when I came down." No real lie there unless it was in calling Master Robert his friend, especially at the moment when he'd like to throttle him in his sleep.

"Less respectable than a man who proposes that every woman he meets warm his bed within ten minutes of meeting her?" she asked in disbelief, crossing her arms and moving away from him on the bench.

He groaned and passed his hand over his forehead, then looked down at the book in his hand again. Things had been going along so well until she had seen this blasted book that didn't even belong to him. He entertained himself briefly with the thought of letting Master Robert go down to dinner with his pants unfastened and then just as quickly dismissed the thought; no use in getting himself fired.

"Elsie, I do not propose that every woman that I meet warm my bed," he said quietly.

"You do not?" she asked archly, "Then what was all that about looking for 'a bit of fun'?"

"I am a man," he said, "If I find a woman attractive, I make advances. It is up to the woman to either accept or reject those advances."

Her jaw tightened, and she ground out, "Did it never occur to you that it might bother all those women to be constantly subjected to your 'advances'?"

He looked at her in astonishment for a moment, "No, as a matter of fact, it did not. I just thought..."

"Obviously, you do not think, Mr. Carson, or you would act differently." With that pronouncement, she stood to her feet and started toward the house. His own anger rose to the surface now, and he started after her.

"Miss Hughes, Miss Hughes," he called and in two swift strides was in front of her and blocking her path. He did not lay a hand on her, merely stood patiently waiting for her to give him a chance to have his say. She glared at him for a moment before crossing her arms over her chest. A very ample chest, he couldn't help noting.

"I do not force my attentions on any woman," he said tightly, "I do look for 'a bit of fun' from time to time, but only with women that are looking for the same. I will admit that there are things in my life that I am ashamed of, but I have never been ashamed of the way that I have treated any woman."

She took a deep breath and stared into his eyes for a moment. He noticed that she seemed to come to a decision and asked, "And what if they are not interested in having 'a bit of fun'?"

"Then I will be their friend, I suppose," he said, "If they will have me." After a moment, he added softly, "If you will have me."

That caused her face to relax and the smallest of smiles to come to her lips, "I will, I suppose."

He released the breath that he hadn't known he was holding and stepped aside to allow her into the house. When she turned around and started back toward the bench instead, he almost couldn't contain his gratitude.

They sat together in silence for a few moments before she turned to him, "Mrs. Reynolds said your mother's name is Grace. Does that mean she is still living?"

He smiled gratefully at the change of subject, "Yes, as a matter of fact, she is the housekeeper at Downton."

"A married housekeeper? They are progressive," she said with surprise.

"No," he corrected her, "a widowed housekeeper. My father died when I was a boy, and we came to Downton not long after. I suppose you can see how I came by my job."

"You may have come by your job that way, but I have no doubt you have kept it by your skills," she said with confidence, "Remember that I have seen your work."

His cheeks tinted and he studied the pattern of wood on the bench. He was proud of the work that he did now, and that had not always been the case. For some reason, it made him unreasonably happy that she noticed his skills. To turn attention away from himself, he asked, "And you? How is it that you have journeyed south?"

"My sister left home early. She was a live-in maid, cook, and housekeeper all in one in Yorkshire. When my mother died, she came to fetch me to live with her. Her mistress was kind enough to let me live in my sister's room while I did day work at other houses. She did charge me room and board, though," she said with a small smile, "When my sister married, I took over her position."

"So you are an orphan then," he said with a nod.

"No," she corrected him grimly, looking out over the courtyard, "my father is still alive."

He looked at her in confusion, "Then why did you not stay with him?"

She glanced at him for a moment then returned her gaze to the courtyard. Her voice still grim, she said, "My sister felt it best that I be with her." Seeing that he was still confused, she said softly, "Not every home is a happy one, Charles."

His answer was just as soft, "I see." But he did not see, not really. He had a sudden urge to find her father and thrash him or anyone that hurt her. "You still haven't explained how you came to be here," he urged her to continue.

"Simple, really. My mistress knew Mrs. Reynolds. When her sister's husband died, she moved in with her and no longer needed my services. She enquired of Mrs. Reynolds regarding any open positions that she knew of and so I came here."

He squinted his eyes at her a moment, "Your mistress knew Mrs. Reynolds and Mrs. Reynolds knows my mother. What village were you in?"

When she gave the name, he looked at her in astonishment, "That's not three miles from the estate I grew up on."

"Just think, if you had remained there we might have met years ago," she said smiling at the thought.

"Oh, I think there is no 'might' about it. I would have certainly made every effort to meet the most beautiful girl in the village," he said, grinning.

She blushed furiously, "Mr. Carson, I thought we had agreed to be friends. One should not be so fresh with a friend."

"One also does not rub a friend's leg under the table with one's foot," he said boldly.

"That might have been an accident," she defended herself.

"It might have been," he agreed thoughtfully, "but I think that it was not."

She blushed again and tried to look at him sternly for a moment but was unable to hold back a laugh.

He laughed with her and then leaned toward her to say conspiratorially, "Perhaps even if we don't have 'a bit of fun', we could be a little more than friends."

She watched him for a few moments before nodding, "Perhaps we could."

She stood again and said briskly, "I have work to do. I'll leave you to your friend's book."

He stood as well and shook his head, "This book holds no interest whatsoever for me."

She looked at him through her lashes as they started toward the door, and his heart did that curious stutter again. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to actively discourage or encourage those glances. Seemingly unable to contain her curiosity, she asked in an almost whisper, "Is it a book with pictures of, of people? That is, I have heard of such things."

He barked a short laugh and rubbed the top of his ear vigorously, "No, there are no pictures. Thank God." He sighed, "Elsie, if I tell you generally what the book is about, will you promise to drop the matter?"

She nodded, but he merely raised his eyebrow at her. She was going to have to give more of a commitment than that. Seeming to realize what he wanted, she said, "I will drop the matter."

"It is about a young girl from the country and her 'adventures' when she comes to London."

She scoffed, "Well, from how reticent you were, I thought it was something terrible. That doesn't sound so bad."

He watched her levelly until she caught on which happened a little quicker than he thought, "Oh...Oh, I see. Well, that is...That's interesting."

She glanced down at the pocket that held the book with an interested gleam in her eyes, and he shooed her toward the door, "Inside with you, Miss Hughes. You have work to do, as do I."

He smiled at her back as he held the door for her. Who would have thought his prim Scottish lass would be curious about something like that?

This was definitely shaping up to be a very interesting trip.

_**Reviews are welcome as always. **_


	8. Burned

_**I hadn't meant it to get this way just yet, but apparently the angst bug has bitten me too. I do ask anyone who is worried to remember my congenital inability to do sad endings, but that doesn't preclude a little bit of torture before the end. **_

_**Disclaimer: They do not belong to me. I earn nothing from them but sleepless nights.**_

Charles awoke with a start and slightly disoriented. He could make out the shadows of furniture in the moonlight, and it seemed that everything was out of place. Then, he remembered that he was not at Downton, but at Holbrook House. He rolled over and fumbled for a match so that he could read his watch; 2:30. Closing his eyes, he tried to find sleep again only to realize after a few moments that it was going to be impossible. Not only had those blue-grey eyes invaded and overtaken his dreams, he found that he could not stop worrying about the shadow that had crossed her face when she had spoken about her father. It bothered him enormously to think of her feeling safer in a stranger's house than in her childhood home. No one should feel that way, least of all her. She was one of the most interesting people he'd ever met. One moment she was flirting with him boldly and the next admonishing him for being too fresh; embarrassed at just a hint of impropriety in that book, but curious as well. Reining his thoughts in, he tried to direct his mind down other paths. Thinking of her and that book together was certainly not going to be conducive to sleep. After another few moments of trying determinedly not to think of her as he'd seen her yesterday morning bent over searching for the book under the bed, he gave up on sleep with a loud sigh and decided to just get ready for his day.

Rising, he lit a candle beside the small mirror and pulled his shirt off, the chill in the room waking him up even more fully. Pouring water into the basin, he splashed a little on his face, grateful for once that it was cold and hoping that it would help him get his thoughts under control. He shaved and dressed quickly, deciding to go down to the servants' hall to read and perhaps make a cup of tea. Checking the title on the book before he slid it into his pocket, he reflected that he hadn't gotten past the first page. He'd spent too much time getting to know his Scottish maid better. Shaking his head at his own preoccupation he slipped quietly into the hall and started down the stairs. Once in the servants' hall, he lifted the spirit lamp off the shelf, remembering how it had felt to stretch above Elsie to retrieve it that first night. While he waited for the water to boil, he reflected over how firmly she was enmeshed in his thoughts. He found that he was looking forward to breakfast eagerly and tried to formulate a plan to win another smile from her or even better a little laugh. Just as he was wetting the tea, he was startled out of his reverie by a surprised voice behind him.

"Charles? What are you doing down here at this hour?"

His arm jerked just enough to splash his hand with boiling water and he let out a pained exclamation before sitting the kettle down none too gently. She was at his side in an instant and pulling him toward the sink by his wrist. He winced as she brushed the reddened flesh but then sighed with relief when the cold water hit his hand.

He looked at her with a grimace of pain, "Elsie, you nearly frightened me out of my wits. Why were you sneaking up on me?"

She smiled up at him apologetically, "I am sorry, Charles, but I didn't mean to sneak up on you. I was just surprised to see someone else up so early."

He rubbed his ear with his uninjured hand and started to feel a little warm as he realized just how close they were to each other, "Um, yes, well, I had some difficulty sleeping and thought I'd just come down to read a bit before breakfast." It didn't help that the reason he couldn't sleep was because his thoughts were filled with blue-grey eyes that were still looking up at him in concern. Not to mention the ginger hair that smelled faintly of lemons or the full red lips that were quirking upward in a half smile.

"I was having trouble sleeping as well," she said still holding his wrist, even though she'd removed it from the cool water, "I had too many things on my mind."

"Such as?" he lifted an eyebrow at her.

"Family," she said, eyes breaking away from his to fix on his tie, "and friends. And more than friends," she finished softly.

"I see," he said, voice dropping to match her tones as he leaned a little closer, "I was thinking of more than friends as well."

"You were?" she asked, head coming up sharply, eyes widening in surprise at how close his face was to hers. She put her free hand on his chest, and he thought she was going to push him away but it just rested there.

She shook her head slightly and her gaze returned to his tie for a moment before lifting again to look into his eyes, "Charles, I feel like I'm playing with fire."

"Perhaps you are," he said with a small smile, "but I am the one who has been burned." He lifted the hand that she was still holding by the wrist to emphasize his point.

She laughed softly and said, "So you are. Perhaps I shouldn't worry overmuch."

"Perhaps you shouldn't," he agreed with the slightest of nods and then unable to resist anymore closed the distance between his lips and hers. He brushed her lips so softly with his own that he would have thought he'd missed his aim if not for the sigh that escaped her. Emboldened by her sigh, he pressed a little closer but left his free arm at his side and made no move to draw her closer. This kiss wasn't about igniting or satisfying passion. It was an inquiry. He was asking her silently where she wanted to go and patiently waiting to take her there.

She leaned into the kiss and her hand that had been resting on his chest clutched at his lapel. He pulled back reluctantly and straightened before whispering hoarsely, "Elsie, this is not a good idea."

"It's not?" she asked with the faintest tinge of disappointment in her voice.

"Not this," he clarified quickly, "it's just not a good idea here. What if someone…"

He broke off at sounds coming from the hall, and she stepped away from him quickly and toward the kettle. She was lifting the lid to check the temperature of the water when Mr. Stevens stepped into the room practically proving the point he'd been about to make.

He looked from Charles to Elsie and back again but there was considerable distance between the two of them and Charles was glad for the instinct which had held him back. He was sure that there were no telltale signs of disarray to suggest what they'd been doing moments before.

The butler addressed them both but kept his suspicious glance on Charles, "Mr. Crawley, Bess, what are you two doing up so early?"

Charles glanced at Elsie to see that she was in the midst of relighting the spirit lamp, "I can't speak for Miss Hughes but for myself I always find it difficult to sleep in a strange house. Rather than toss and turn any longer, I came in search of a little tea," then he lifted his injured hand, "However, I'm afraid my clumsiness has struck again. I've burned my hand. Miss Hughes was kind enough to rescue me."

The butler's eyes shifted from Charles to Elsie where they lingered for a moment before turning sharply back to Charles, "I see. Well, we certainly can't have you injured can we? Bess, go fetch the first aid box from Mrs. Reynolds's sitting room. I'll be sure she knows you've had my permission."

Elsie quickly complied and Mr. Stevens watched over his shoulder until she was safely out the door, and then stepped closer to Charles to say, "You are a very clumsy man, Mr. Crawley. It's a wonder that you've made it this far in life without serious injury. You should learn to be more careful."

Charles nodded, "Of course, sir. That's very good advice, sir. I shall attempt…"

"I'm not so much worried about you, Mr. Crawley. You seem to be the type of man who always comes through, but I wouldn't want you to bring harm to anyone else. Someone like our Bess for instance. I wouldn't want her to be hurt by your carelessness."

Charles met the other man's steady gaze for a moment as he digested his meaning, "No, sir, I would never want to hurt her in any way. I shall be most careful of her."

"See that you are," the butler nodded briskly and stepped over to the spirit lamp to lift the kettle off the flame.

Charles looked up to see that Elsie was standing in the doorway holding a small box and watching both of them with a curious expression. When she saw him looking at her, she smiled and stepped into the room, "Mr. Crawley, step over here to the table and we'll have that hand fixed in two shakes."

He sat down where she indicated and let his hand rest on the table. Watching her as she concentrated on spreading the ointment on his hand where a blister was already forming, he thought about what both Elsie and the butler had said. They were playing with fire, and he knew that he didn't want Elsie to get hurt. She was not the type of woman he was used to spending time with, ready for just a bit of fun. She might think she wanted that, but he was determined not to hurt her. Before he allowed this flirtation to go any further, he needed to decide how far he was willing to go. All he knew at the moment was that he could think of nothing better than sharing tea and company with her at the end of every day before they went off to their own bed together, and that was definitely an entanglement that he hadn't thought he'd ever want.

Mr. Stevens interrupted his thoughts by bringing two mugs of tea to the table and setting them between Elsie and himself. Picking up another mug, he said, "I'll see you two at breakfast." Then he left them alone with their thoughts and each other.

"What was Mr. Stevens saying to you when I came in?" she asked casually before taking a sip of her tea.

Charles smiled at her gentle probing and deflected the question, "He was just telling me that I needed to be more careful."

"Of me?" she asked with a flash of anger in her eyes.

Charles nodded, "Partially."

"I am not a child, Charles Carson," she said with more than a flash of anger now.

He leaned away from her dangerous eyes, "I know that you are not, Elsie Hughes, but even grown women may be hurt by careless men."

"Are you a careless man, Charles?" she asked.

He shook his head, "I do not want to be, but perhaps I am."

"And if I am willing to take the chance?"

He looked at her and raised his now bandaged hand, "I'm not completely sure that I am willing. Remember that I'm the one who has been injured."

Any other time the look of disappointment that flashed across her face might have made him smug but now it just worried him more. She nodded at him briskly, "I see. Well, the others will be up soon. I should go about my duties."

He caught her hand as she stood and started to turn away, "I did not say that I was not willing, just that I am not sure. Please don't be angry. I would like a little time to think. That is all."

She smiled down at their joined hands, squeezing his lightly, "Sometime thinking is over-rated, Mr. Carson."

"Sometimes it is," he agreed, returning her smile with interest before releasing her hand.

He sipped his tea as he watched her walk out the door.

This trip was becoming more and more complicated.

_**Reviews are welcome as always**_


	9. Turning up the heat

_**Just to keep up with time, this chapter is set on April 29, 1890 so we have two more days before the events of the prologue. Thank you all so much for your reviews, alerts, and favs. I hope things aren't moving along too slowly for you in this story.**_

_**Disclaimer: I still don't own them and they don't belong to me.**_

Breakfast was a slightly chilly affair in which Elsie's arm did not brush his nearly as much as at dinner the night before, and he tried to carefully keep his knee from resting against hers. He spooned his food into his mouth without tasting it. All his thoughts were focused on her. He could feel every movement and almost every breath that she took. The look of disappointment she had given him earlier was foremost in his thoughts. Strange that he could bear with her anger but was devastated at the thought of disappointing her. When he was half way through his porridge, he could resist the temptation no longer and nudged her foot with his own. She glanced at him sideways through her lashes, and he risked a small reassuring smile. The corner of her mouth quirked upward, and her foot tapped his under the table. His heart lightened considerably, and he bent back to his porridge with renewed eagerness and even thought it tasted a little better. A glance to the head of the table when the Viscount's bell rang revealed Mr. Stevens watching them steadily. Charles rose and trudged up the stairs slowly, his mind still heavy with his thoughts from earlier.

Any hope that he had that the Viscount might not be in a talkative mood were quickly dashed. Last night Master Robert had been in no mood for conversation, but this morning was a different matter. Charles forced his own thoughts down so that he could concentrate on his master's concerns.

"Carson, have you heard anything else about Miss Evangeline?" he asked curiously, "She's not interested in someone else, is she? It's the oddest thing. Her mother is all but pushing her on me, but every time I try to get her alone for a little conversation, someone interrupts."

"No, sir," he said as he held the Viscount's dressing gown for him, "I have not heard anything but could it be that they are just trying to protect her virtue sir?"

"I'm hardly trying to drag her to an empty bedroom, Carson," the Viscount said in exasperation as Charles drew his bath, "I would just like to speak to her alone for a few moments, in company, of course."

"I am sorry, sir, I did not mean to imply that you intended anything untoward, sir," Charles apologized quickly, rising from his position over the bathtub, "But sometimes others can misconstrue perfectly harmless intentions."

"Yes, yes, Carson," the Viscount said impatiently as he pulled off his dressing gown and removed his pyjamas in preparation for entering the bath, "I took no offense, and I'm sure none was intended. It's just that I am not enough of a fool to expect love, but I would like to be able to converse with a woman before we decide to marry. Surely one should at least have friendly feelings toward one's future spouse."

Charles agreed, as he draped both dressing gown and pyjamas over his arm, "At least that, sir. Shall I leave you to your bath, sir? Will you require anything else at the moment?"

He was dismissed with a wave of the Viscount's hand and stepped back into the bedroom with relief. Providing a sounding board for the Viscount's romantic woes was not something he felt up to at the moment. He was having enough problems of his own.

By the time he had the pyjamas folded and a clean suit of clothes ready, Master Robert was ready to get out of the bath. As he was returning to the bathing room, Charles noticed that THE book was sticking out of the drawer on the bedside table. At least it wouldn't be falling off the bed this morning.

He held the towel for his master to get out of the bath and waited for him to towel himself off before holding his dressing gown for him.

Apparently the Viscount had recovered from his romantic disappointment enough to tweak Charles about his own because as Charles lathered on the shaving soap, he asked, "How is your book, Carson? Surely you've had some time to read by now."

Charles was proud that his hand paused only for the barest second in brushing on the soap before he answered, "No, sir, I still have not been able to start my book. I keep getting interrupted when I try to find the time."

"Ahhh. The maid with 'the Scottish accent and temper' has been interrupting you?"

Charles paused as he was about to pull the razor down Master Robert's cheek and nodded shortly, "At times, sir. But speaking of maids, sir, I hope that your book did not come to any harm."

The Viscount's eyes widened, but he had to wait until Charles finished his first stroke to respond, "My book?"

"Yes, sir," Charles studiously watched the razor as he drew it over his cheeks, "A book fell off the bed yesterday while the maid was making it. A geography book, I believe; something about a 'Hill'. I took the liberty of placing it in your bedside table."

Charles had the pleasure of seeing his master swallow quickly and cheeks turn red. He couldn't resist one final jab, "It is most commendable that you are enlarging your mind in this way instead of with frivolous novels. I'm sure it will be of great help to you when you return to your regiment."

"Yes; well, I'm sure that it will be," he said quickly with a slight cough, "Thank you for securing the book. I wouldn't want it to come to any harm."

"Of course not, sir," Charles agreed with the slightest of nods, "We none of us want to harm anything that is important to us, but accidents do happen." Perhaps now he would be a little more careful with that book and keep Charles out of any awkward situations. Although the thought of bringing harm on through carelessness pushed his mind down the same paths it had been on earlier. Hurting Elsie through his own casual flirting was his chief concern at the moment. There were two possible solutions to his problem; one which he felt he almost couldn't bear and the other which frightened him a little. He could either stop flirting altogether, or he could remove any casualness from the equation. All in all the best solution would be to stop flirting altogether, although that thought depressed him more than he thought safe.

The remainder of dressing Master Robert for the day went quickly, and he was soon sent out the door and on his way to breakfast. Charles lingered behind to put up the shaving things and check over the evening wear. He looked over the clothes very carefully and brushed them off at least twice; telling himself all the while that he was not waiting to see if a certain maid might come in to make up the bed. He told himself that, that is, until his heart leapt in his chest at the opening of the door.

Charles turned to the open door to see the top of a ginger head around the edge. Keeping his eagerness in check, he cleared his throat to give her warning of his presence. She looked up at him with only the slightest bit of surprise. The smile that she gave him made his decision crumble.

"Mr. Carson, I thought you'd be finished in here and back downstairs already," she said watching him carefully as she moved toward the bed.

He looked at her with disappointment, "Are we back to Mr. Carson and Miss Hughes? I thought we were beyond that."

"You were the one who wanted time to think," she answered stiffly.

He smiled, moving to the other side of the bed to help her, "You were the one who said thinking is over-rated."

"I did," she said with a brisk nod, "but I suppose it depends on what one is thinking about."

"When would thinking not be over-rated?" he asked, straightening the blanket on his side.

She busied herself with fluffing and arranging the pillows for a moment, "Shouldn't you ask when thinking is over-rated?"

"No," he grinned at her, "I think I have a pretty could idea of the times when thinking isn't needed."

Her cheeks tinted and she concentrated on the bed again, "It is comments like that that have me thinking."

"Why do they have you thinking?" he frowned at her in concern.

She paused and straightened to look at him squarely, "Charles, what is it you want from me?"

He straightened to his full height as well and paused for a moment to find the right words, "Let me begin by what I do not want. I do not want to hurt you. I do not want you for just 'a bit of fun.' You are not that type of woman, Elsie."

"Do you know me so well after just two days then?" she said, "How do you know that I am not 'that type of woman'?"

"Because," he retorted with heat in his voice, "if you were that type of woman, you would have taken me up immediately on my need for a bed-warmer, or you'd use your influence over Mr. Stevens to your advantage, or you'd not blush when we discussed that book."

"Then why do you continue to seek me out?" she asked, puzzled, "Why don't you just find someone who is the type of woman you want?"

His voice rose just a little as he tried to make his point, "I never said you weren't the type of woman I'd want."

"Yes," she said slowly as though she was trying to explain something to a very simple man, "I believe that you did. You want someone for a bit of fun. I am not the type of woman for that. Therefore, you would not want my type of woman."

"Elsie," he said through clenched teeth, "you're twisting my words around. I was trying to pay you a compliment. I just…, I don't know any other way to put it than that I enjoy you. I won't deny that you're attractive, but it's your wit and your humor that I enjoy. Couldn't we just continue as we were and be maybe just a little more than friends for now?"

"It took you all morning to come to that conclusion?" she asked in astonishment, "I thought that was what we had already decided."

"We had," he agreed with a small smile, "but you are very tempting, and I am a rogue. We'll need to be very careful."

She scoffed, "You are not a rogue. You are a decent, honorable man."

"Do you know me so well after just two days then?" he teased, "How do you know that I am not a rogue?"

"Because, Charles Carson," she answered carefully, "if you were a rogue, you would have told me all the details of that book, and you wouldn't have interfered between Mr. Stevens and me, and we would not have just made this bed, we would have used it."

He stood dumbfounded at her last comment for a moment before stepping closer to her and saying, "That settles it, Elsie Hughes. I'm going to be more than your friend for your own sake. If you said that to another man, your virtue would no longer be intact."

"I would never say that to another man, because I've never trusted another man like I trust you," she said quietly looking up at him.

He stared down at her and whispered, "I will try to be worthy of your trust." He leaned down and kissed her with more pressure than he'd used this morning, touching his lips against hers before brushing them lightly with his tongue and exploring her mouth gently. He pulled back after a moment with a slightly dazed expression and breathing heavily, only barely registering her quickened breaths as well.

"Elsie, you should leave now so that I can keep my promise," he said, standing with his arms at his sides and turned away from her slightly.

"Charles…" she began but he cut her off.

"Please, Elsie," he said quietly, "Perhaps we can talk again after luncheon, but for now we should leave things as they are."

She nodded briskly and after a moment he heard the door close. He sighed and sank into the armchair with his head in his hands.

This was going to be the most difficult trip of his life.

_**Reviews are welcome as always and feed my addiction.**_


	10. A slow burn

_**Thank you again for all your reviews, favs, and alerts. They really do make my day. If you want to have a mental picture of what Charles looks like in the timeframe of this fic, check out 'Trial by Fire' or the pics that Crazy Mary T has on Tumblr from it. JC would be just about the appropriate age in that movie for the Charles Carson of this fic. **_

_**Disclaimer: Still don't own them or earn anything from them**_

Luncheon was a much warmer meal than breakfast even if he did have to sit across from Elsie instead of beside her. In some ways that was even more distracting. Any time he raised his eyes from his plate he met hers and his memories of looking down into those trusting eyes made him completely lose track of the conversation flowing around him. Thankfully, he must have been able to make the expected responses automatically, because he noticed no amused or curious glances from his companions on either side. He watched her hand with interest as it lifted her fork to her mouth, remembering what it felt like pressed against his chest this morning. Of course, her most distracting and delightful part were those lips, which he now knew how they felt as well as looked smiling at him. Bending back to his meal with interest, he applied himself to eating. If he kept looking at and thinking about her, he was going to make a mistake. Moving his food around on his plate, he wondered what exactly was happening to him. He hadn't been this affected by a woman since he was a raw lad of sixteen. As he speared a carrot with his fork, the thought struck him that this might actually be love. His mouth went dry at the thought, and he picked up his glass to take a quick swallow of ale. Peeking cautiously at her, he caught her watching him through those eyelashes again. Letting his eyes drop quickly, he realized that he was definitely entangled and so tightly that he could barely breathe. Remembering how soft her lips had felt, he decided that perhaps breathing was over-rated.

When luncheon was over, he stood quickly and wondered for a moment what he should do. The safest course of action would definitely be to go up to his room and lock himself in until the dressing gong rang. All thought of doing that fled when he saw Elsie slip out the back door. He looked around to be sure there were no curious eyes watching and stepped outside himself. A nice brisk walk after being inside for so long would do him good. He knew he should walk in the opposite direction of that bench as quickly as possible but decided to stroll casually toward it instead. His decision was solidified by seeing her sitting in the middle of the bench with head bowed, studying her hands. Just a few quick strides brought him directly in front of the bench, and he waited patiently for her to acknowledge him. She smiled first at his shoes and then let her eyes travel up his body to his face. The warmth of her smile when she reached his eyes invited him to sit.

He sat beside her, not quite touching, but close enough that he could feel her warmth along the length of his leg. Laying his arm along the back of the bench, he leaned back and she followed suit, shoulders just barely touching his arm.

Her lips twitched with a barely contained smile, "I take it you've had enough time to recover?"

"Elsie," he sighed, "I am beginning to think I'll never recover from you, and I am not sure that I really want to."

Her head twisted sharply to look at him and whatever she saw in his eyes seemed to answer any question that she had. She unclenched her hands and one dropped unconsciously to her side between them, brushing the outside of his thigh. Ignoring his sharp intake of breath, she began, "Charles, I have never felt like this before. I never even wanted to feel like this before. What are you doing to me?"

Almost overwhelmed by their proximity on the bench, Charles stood quickly, "Perhaps we should walk."

She looked at him curiously for a moment, but nodded, taking his proffered hand. When she stood, he did not offer his arm, but merely started walking with arms at his sides. They walked in silence for a few moments with her hand brushing his sleeve occasionally and the tips of his fingers touching her dress at times. She indicated a path which would take them around some of the storage buildings and the bicycle shed, and he readily turned his feet down that path.

"Elsie," he began hesitantly, "I assure you that I am not consciously doing anything to you. As I doubt that you are consciously doing anything to me. All I can say is that I am affected in the same way. You fascinate me. I want to know everything about you. And then there's the, um," he cleared his throat, "Well, let's just say that I would very much like to kiss you right now."

She looked up at him with her cheeks furiously red, "Perhaps I would very much like to be kissed right now."

"Would you?" he groaned, "Now is not really the opportune time, I'm afraid."

"I know that," she said sharply, "The middle of the courtyard in bright sunlight would probably not be safe."

"At least we've retained some sense," he quipped with a quick upturn of his brows.

"Some," she agreed with a small laugh and then asked, "Would you kiss me as you did before?"

He looked down at her seriously, "I suppose so," he cleared his throat again; "I take it that was agreeable to you?"

"Very," she nodded quickly, and then blushed again, "Except perhaps I might like to be held a little as well."

"I didn't want to press you," he said softly, "But if you wish, I would very much like to put my arms around you."

"You would?"

"I would indeed," he said, and then speculated, "I think that I would begin by holding your hand and letting my fingers trail up your arm to your collarbone."

He looked down to see her lips parted and cheeks flushed. "That would be nice," she whispered.

"Then I don't believe I could resist running my hand over your shoulder and down to your waist so that I could pull you tight against me," he said leaning toward her.

"I see," she said, breath quickening further, "And where would my hands be all this time."

His lip quirked up into a half-smile, "Would you rather they be around my waist or around my neck?"

"If they were around your waist, would they be under your jacket?"

His mouth went dry and, unable to resist anymore, he grasped her hand and drew her into the storage shed they were beside. His hand found its way from hers to her collarbone and then down to the small of her back before he drew her against him and bent to kiss her with all the passion he'd held in reserve earlier. Leaning back against the door of the shed, he reveled in the feeling of her back and shoulders under his hands while her breasts were pressed tight against his chest. Breaking away from the kiss after several long moments, he let his forehead rest against hers. It was only as he caught his breath that he realized that hers was still coming in short gasps, and she was trembling in his arms.

He let his arms fall to his side immediately, "Elsie, what is it? Have I frightened you?"

She responded by gripping his back harder under his jacket. "No, no, it's not that at all," she answered, "It's just-, I don't care for small spaces. That's all."

"I'm sorry. I never thought," he said, lifting his hand to stroke her cheek, "We can go back out there, but I'll need a moment to gather my wits."

She shook her head, "No, I think I'd like to stay here for a moment. If you think it's safe, that is."

"I promise not to ravish you in a dusty shed in the middle of the afternoon," he chuckled, "Well, no more than I already have, that is."

She smiled up into his eyes and then rose tentatively on her toes to press her lips to his. He steadied her with hands on her hips and held himself still, ceding all control to her. Her tongue flicked out lightly to seek entrance which he readily granted. He was nearly undone by her exploration of his mouth, but just when he felt almost overwhelmed with the need to return her kiss in earnest; she ended the kiss and fell back to her heels. Pulling her head down against his chest, he let his hands roam over her back, soothing her trembles.

"Why is it that you don't care for small spaces, love?" he asked quietly.

He felt her clench her fist against his back and squeeze her eyes shut against his chest. There was a long enough pause that he was sure she wouldn't answer. Just as he was preparing to apologize, she began, "My father. We had a cellar. Sometimes when I'd misbehaved…"

He cut her off quickly, "Stop. You don't have to say more. I believe I understand." Anger rose in him again, and he assured himself that if he ever had the misfortune to meet Elsie's father, he would thrash him to within an inch of his life.

She nodded and said, "I would prefer if you'd never…. That is, besides my sister, you are the only one who knows that."

"You needn't worry, Elsie," he assured her, "No one will ever hear that from me," he paused, unsure if he should ask his next question, but he felt that he needed to know. "Did he ever do anything else?"

She shook her head against him and said, "No that was reserved for my mother."

"Ahhh. That is why your sister came to fetch you when your mother died."

Her voice was considerably lighter when she agreed, "Sarah is a good woman."

"And what would Sarah think of you kissing a man senseless in a storage shed?" he asked to lighten their conversation.

She leaned back to look in his eyes and laughed softly, "I was not the one who drug you into this shed, Mr. Carson."

"I believe, _Elsie_," he answered, drawing his eyebrows dangerously low, "that we are now permanently on a first name basis, and there's no need to quibble about details. What would she think?"

She smoothed her fingers over his lapel, "She is very handy with knives."

He started to smile then decided from her expression that she might not be joking. He changed the subject again, "You've never been kissed before, have you?"

"I have," she began angrily, and then dropped her gaze to his chest, "but not quite like that."

Placing his hand on her cheek, he tilted her head back so that he could look in her eyes again, "I've never kissed a woman quite like you before."

He bent his head to kiss her again and attempted to infuse it with all the confused feelings he was having about her and about himself and about them, together. When the kiss ended they were both more than a little breathless, but it was she who recovered her senses first.

"We, or at least I, need to be getting back inside," she said as she straightened and lifted her hand to her hair.

Putting his hands on her shoulders, he pushed her away from him and looked her over critically. He silently tucked loose strands of hair back into her braids and straightened her clothing, letting his hand skim over her side.

"You should go in first," he said, "I'll need another moment or two and then I'll be in."

She looked at him quizzically for a moment, and he blushed under her gaze, not wanting to explain why he needed a few moments to himself. Thankfully, she didn't press him for an answer but nodded briskly. Before she left, she leaned toward him and smoothed the curl on his forehead back, cupping his cheek in her hand.

"You are not a rogue, Charles. You are a very good man."

He smiled at possibly the best compliment he'd ever received, "Thank you for that, Elsie. Now, go."

She left quickly, and he sank back against the wall of the shed.

This trip was going to change his life forever.

_**Reviews are welcome as always.**_


	11. Getting warmer

_**Again, thank you for your reviews. I do appreciate them, even though I'm having trouble answering them individually. I hope that this continues to be a believable progression. **_

_**Disclaimer: If I owned them, I would be able to quit my job and write fanfic full time. Of course, if I owned them it wouldn't be fanfic. **_

Getting Lord Downton changed into his nightclothes and settled down for the night proved to be a more difficult task than usual. He'd had slightly more to drink than was good for him and was in a morose but somewhat flippant mood; a dangerous combination. Charles was also dismayed to notice that there was a stain on his evening wear that was going to have to be dealt with before tomorrow night.

"Do you fancy a trip to America, Carson?" he asked out of the blue.

Charles was able to conceal his shock by concentrating on unfastening the cufflinks, "America, sir? I have never really thought of going there, but, of course, where you go, I will go."

"Sir Charles has told me his brother went there and brought back a very pretty wife. He has also solved his financial difficulties," then his voice turned bitter, "Very simple transaction. Make a wealthy American woman a Lady and save your estate."

Carson merely nodded. There was nothing to say to this. The gentry married for their own reasons. It was naught to do with him. He had his own troubles. If he married, he would lose his livelihood and not be able to support his family, with no definite prospect of another job. He had spent the afternoon reviewing his finances, and it would be at least a year before he would feel safe taking that risk.

The Viscount was lost in his thoughts for a little while until finally he focused on Charles again as he buttoned his pyjama shirt, "I do love Downton, Carson."

"As do I, sir. It is a lovely estate and home, sir," Charles said, "I would do anything to protect it."

"You know, I believe you would," Master Robert said after watching him carefully for a moment, "I suppose we'll see soon enough whether I would or not. How is your maid with the temper? Still not speaking to you?"

"She is well enough, I believe," Charles said carefully, "We haven't really spoken that much," which was true enough since their mouths had been busy doing other things.

That earned him a sharp glance, but apparently the fuzziness from the alcohol took over because the Viscount yawned and climbed into bed. As Charles was quickly tidying the room and gathering the evening wear, Master Robert gave him one last bit of useful information, "You needn't bother about my evening wear for tomorrow night. Apparently we're to go to the village celebration. A tradition, they say. An ordinary suit will do."

"Very well, sir," Charles nodded, grateful for that bit of information. He would get that stain out tonight, though. There was no need to put off until another day what he could do today. Stepping into the hall, he made his way quickly toward the stairs. If he hurried, he might have a chance to say goodnight to his maid. He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn't realize that a door had opened beside him until he was pulled by his sleeve into an empty bedroom. Before he knew what was happening he had an armful of Scottish maid and soft lips pressed against his own. Evening wear forgotten, he let it fall to the floor while he wrapped his arms around Elsie and devoted himself completely to the kiss.

After a few minutes, she pulled away from his lips, and he trailed kisses down her jaw before whispering against her neck, "Elsie Hughes, what are you doing?"

"I should think that would be obvious, Charles Carson. Mmmm, that feels good."

"No; I mean what are you doing here?" he asked, nipping the spot behind her left ear lightly again before pulling back, "If we're caught, you'll be fired without a reference. You need to be more careful."

"Charles, you seem to think I'm an idiot. I know how to be careful," she said, and stood on her toes to kiss the side of his mouth lightly, "I just wanted to say goodnight."

He laughed softly and turned his lips to capture hers for another kiss. When he'd finished kissing her thoroughly again, he straightened to look in her eyes, "Forgive me, but I don't recall hearing you say anything before you attacked me."

She gave him a level look, "I don't recall hearing any objection. If you'd rather, I could leave you alone."

"Now, don't be hasty. I never said I wanted to be left alone," he said, smoothing his hands down her back, "I just suggested that you be more careful." He pulled her tighter against him and bent to taste her neck again, "A man could get the wrong idea. We are in a bedroom after all."

She pushed him away, "What idea would that be?"

He put his hands on her shoulders, "I believe that you know. Elsie, you needn't worry. I'm not after that with you. Not yet, anyway," he finished softly.

"Not yet?" she watched him curiously.

He straightened to his full height and took a deep breath, "Elsie, that is a privilege that should be reserved for your husband."

"My husband?" she asked, obviously confused, "So you wouldn't want…?"

"I did not say that," he stopped her with two fingers over her lips, "I said that should be reserved for your husband."

Her hands, which had been on his chest, dropped to her side, "Charles, are you asking for that privilege?"

He ran his hand through his hair, "No; not yet. I-, Elsie, I don't have the right or the means to ask just yet. And we've not even known each other for three days…," he trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing the back of his neck vigorously.

"Then, what are you trying to say?" she asked, watching him carefully.

"I had no intention of saying anything just yet, but now I've begun, I suppose I must finish," he sighed "Elsie, I've only known you three days, but I want to know you better and longer. Forever, I believe. I can't be sure, and I'm not asking you to be sure. I would just like to write you, and for you to answer my letters. Then, given time and when I've been able to save some more money, perhaps we might…" He was rubbing his neck more vigorously now and had started to pull at his collar nervously. He turned his attention back to her in a desperate plea for help.

She smiled and shook her head in wonder, "I don't know what I expected from you, but it was certainly not this. Do you ask this of every woman that you meet?"

"Certainly not!" he protested a bit too loudly, then dropped his voice appropriately, "I've never said anything remotely like this to a woman in my life. What kind of man do you think I am?"

"I believe you called yourself a rogue," she said dryly.

"And you," he said, glaring at her a little, "told me that I was not."

"I still don't believe that you are," she said, pressing her hand to his heart, "but do you even realize what you're saying? As you pointed out, we've known each other less than three days."

"I am not a child," he said forcefully, "I am a fully grown man, and I know my own mind. At least as much as it's possible to know my own mind in a case like this," he finished ruefully.

She lifted her hand to smooth his hair back from his forehead and said softly, "Yes."

"Beg pardon?"

"Yes; you may write to me, and I'll answer you. Then, given time, when _we've_ saved enough money, perhaps we might…"

His smile broadened as she spoke until he bent forward and silenced her with a sweet and deep kiss, pulling away for a moment only to dip his head and kiss her again.

"Are you quite sure, Elsie?" he asked, "I'm not trying to rush anything. It's just that I've never met anyone like you, and I really don't want to go back to a time when I don't know you."

"Not trying to rush anything?" she asked incredulously, "Three days and you're asking me to reserve myself for you. That would seem the very definition of rushing things."

"You don't have to promise me anything you don't want," he answered defensively, "I am only asking to write."

"Charles, I am a grown woman, and I know my own mind. Ask or not, I will reserve myself for you," she said, "I've never wanted anything remotely like this with another man. I will wait for you if you wish it, but will you be content with that? When you're used to looking for your bit of fun?"

"Are you asking if I will wait for you?" he asked, and then continued at her quick nod, "I have every intention of reserving myself for you, as you put it, for as long as you wish it. I've looked for my bit of fun before because I've never had the prospect of a wife before."

It was her turn to cut him off with a kiss, and he leaned backward with the forcefulness of it. When she was finished exploring his mouth, she laid her head on his shoulder. He pressed kisses onto her forehead. "You do realize that I'll get no sleep tonight, don't you?" he asked with a smile in his voice.

"And you think that I will?"

He shook her lightly in his arms, "You should have thought about that before dragging an unsuspecting man into an empty bedroom."

"I would say I'd never do it again, but it seemed to turn out well," she said, running her hand over his chest.

"This time," he said with emphasis, "just don't make a habit of it. Except with me, of course, you can drag me anywhere you want."

She glanced over her shoulder at the bed, and he turned her head back toward him with two fingers on her chin, "Except there, for now at least."

"For now," she agreed, "I should leave shouldn't I?"

"You should," he nodded reluctantly, "but let me check the hall first."

She started to step away from him, but he drew her back toward him to place a light kiss on her lips.

"This has been the best trip of my life."

_**Reviews are welcome as always**_.


	12. Making plans

_**Finally it is April 30**__**th**__** and the day before the prologue. I'm glad y'all are enjoying this, and I enjoy all your speculation on how it's going to turn out. **_

It amazed Charles that no one else could see the difference between Elsie and himself, but apparently no one did because George, the other valet, spoke to him about mundane things and he could hear the soft tones of Elsie's voice beside him as she spoke to others at the table. For some reason, he thought they both should look radically different today. He certainly felt radically different. His future no longer held the prospect of being a single man, continuing as a valet or perhaps a butler, and someday retiring alone to a little cottage at Downton. Now, he was looking forward to being a husband with a woman that he adored to share his life with him, perhaps even children one day, although that thought made him reach for his tea to quench his suddenly dry mouth. He had no idea what he was qualified to do, a factory worker or perhaps a clerk. The best plan would likely be to save enough money to own and open his, _their,_ he corrected himself, own shop. That would be safe. No worries about being out of work with little mouths to feed. His mouth went dry again, and he took another quick swallow of his tea. Elsie glanced over at his quick movement and smiled at him. All his worries fled at her smile, and he returned it with earnest. Unfortunately, a glance at the head of the table told him that the one person he would not have wanted to notice had. He gave Mr. Stevens a short nod and bent back to his porridge, nudging Elsie's foot under the table. Elsie responded by dropping her hand to his leg and giving it a gentle squeeze, causing a slight pause in the journey of the spoon from his bowl to his mouth. Not wanting to be outdone, he shifted his leg so that his knee lay against hers and rubbed her thigh lightly. He heard the very slight rise in her voice as she was speaking to the maid beside her, but a quick glance told him that no one else had. His attack started to backfire, however, when he realized that the feeling of her strong leg against his was likely affecting him more than her. Making a tactical retreat, he pulled away from her and straightened in his chair.

Turning his attention back to his porridge, he glimpsed the bandage on his left hand and was struck by a possible way to get Elsie alone again. Clearing his throat, he said in a low voice, "Miss Hughes, since you were so kind to treat my injury yesterday, I was wondering if…"

He was interrupted by a deep voice from the head of the table, "Mr. Crawley, you should probably have Mrs. Reynolds look at your burn from yesterday. You certainly wouldn't want to get an infection."

Managing not to growl in frustration, he said, "That would be very kind. If she has the time, of course?" he added with a quick glance in the housekeeper's direction.

Mrs. Reynolds agreed readily, "Certainly, come to my sitting room as soon as you've seen to Lord Downton."

Elsie nudged his knee under the table, obviously guessing what he'd planned. After a few more moments, he chanced a glance at her and saw that she was biting back a smile. Frustrating woman.

Deciding any further attempt at breakfast was useless, he rose to prepare a small tray for Lord Downton. He was going to have a horrible headache this morning, and Charles's plans involved his employer being in a good mood. With a minimum of cajoling, he managed to wheedle a glass of juice and a cup of coffee out of one of the kitchen maids. The thought struck him to blend the two in a noxious mixture to discourage further overindulgence. He dismissed it quickly though, in favor of putting Master Robert in the best humor possible.

Starting up the stairs with his tray, he was not at all surprised to hear a soft burr behind him, "Did you enjoy your little chat with Molly, Mr. Carson?"

"Is that her name?" he tossed back over his shoulder, "I did but not as much as I enjoyed my breakfast."

"Was the porridge that good?" she teased.

"The company was that good," he paused on the landing to Lord Downton's floor and turned to face her so that he could speak quietly, "So good in fact that I dread leaving tomorrow."

Her smile faded just a little, but she answered him seriously, "You should let tomorrow worry about tomorrow, Mr. Carson, but in truth, I am not looking forward to it either."

Smiling down at her reassuringly, he shook his head and said, "Meet me on the bench after luncheon if I don't see you before."

She nodded, and he pushed through the door to deliver his cure to Lord Downton.

The juice, coffee, and small piece of bread did seem to help Master Robert's headache and mood but not quite enough for Charles to be willing to chance his question. He decided to wait until tonight when he would dress him for the village party.

Lingering behind after Lord Downton left, he spent a little time packing while he waited for his maid to appear. He couldn't tarry too long, not with Mrs. Reynolds waiting to tend to his hand, but he also couldn't bear missing out on the chance for a quick kiss. Just as he was prepared to give up, the door opened, and Elsie entered breathlessly with a smile for him.

"I tried to hurry," she said, stepping into his waiting arms, "Mrs. Reynolds will be looking for you. If you keep her waiting too long, she'll be suspicious."

Charles cut her off with a deep and satisfying kiss, stepping away before he could be overwhelmed, "Let her suspect. We've done nothing wrong. Well, except for me dragging you into that empty shed, and you dragging me into that empty bedroom, and, of course, we've kissed in here once or twice, and in the kitchen…" He trailed off, "Perhaps it would be best to conceal ourselves a bit longer. You are an insatiable woman."

She scoffed, "Said the pot to the kettle. Go on with you, my love, and I'll see you after luncheon."

He stopped short and was back to her in one stride, "Do you mean that?"

"That you're the pot calling the kettle black? Of course you are," she said with a small laugh.

"No, the next part. The bit about love," he asked watching her seriously.

"Charles, do you think I behave like this with every valet who comes to this house?" she asked quietly, "I've never felt this way before, but yes, I believe that it is."

Grasping her hips, he drew her against him, "I hope that you don't behave this way with every valet, or any other man for that matter. My love," he smiled, "I rather like the sound of that. Would you mind very much if I told you that I believe I may love you as well?"

She grasped the back of his neck and drew him to her for a deep kiss. She fell back on her heels after a moment and he chuckled, a little breathless now himself, "I suppose that you wouldn't."

"Not at all," she answered and then pushed him toward the door, "You need to hurry. It wouldn't do to get caught."

"Here I've known you for a bare three days, and you're already bossing me about," he said as he grasped the doorknob, "Are all Scottish women so commanding?"

"Only with the troublesome Yorkshire men," she smiled, and he walked through the door and directly into Mr. Stevens.

Thankfully, he had enough presence of mind to shut the door firmly behind him before catching Mr. Stevens' arm to hold him upright, taking care to not injure his jacket this time, "Mr. Stevens, sir, you must think me the clumsiest of men."

"What I think or do not think is of little relevance, Mr. Crawley," the butler said stiffly, "You will soon be gone, and I doubt we'll see you again."

Charles nodded respectfully, "That remains to be seen, sir. Life can take one down many paths."

Charles started toward the stairs, expecting the butler to follow. When he realized that he hadn't, he turned around to see him looking at the bedroom door intently. There was no way that Charles was going to let that man enter a bedroom with his Elsie in it.

"Sir, was there something you needed from Lord Downton's room?" he asked, watching him carefully, "I should be happy to fetch it for you if you'd like."

The butler turned toward him with a scowl which was quickly replaced by a resigned grimace, "No, Mr. Crawley. There is nothing that I need. You should be getting down to Mrs. Reynolds's sitting room. She can't wait for you forever."

Charles nodded and waited while the butler turned and started down the corridor in the opposite direction. He watched him disappear around the corner before stepping onto the stairs.

Entering Mrs. Reynolds's sitting room after a respectful knock, he was struck by how similar this was to his mother's room at Downton, yet just enough dissimilar to be disconcerting.

"Come in, lad," Mrs. Reynolds said, rising to lift the box Elsie had used yesterday from a shelf, "Sit there, and I'll have a look at that hand."

He sat down obediently in the chair she indicated and laid his hand on the table. She looked at the bandage appraisingly before beginning to cut it off.

"Well, our Bess did a fine job with this," she said with a smile, "She's a good girl that one."

Charles agreed wholeheartedly with this sentiment but curtailed his enthusiasm, "Her help was certainly appreciated."

The housekeeper kept her attention on his wound, and he winced as she cleaned it with carbolic acid. "She'll make a fine housekeeper one day."

He grunted in response, and she looked up at him sharply, "You don't agree?"

He winced again and said, "I am sure that Miss Hughes will be successful at anything she does, but perhaps she might like to keep her own house someday."

"Perhaps," the housekeeper agreed and paused while she searched through her box for the ointment that Elsie had used. She looked at him sharply again.

"I knew your father as well, you know."

"You did?" he asked with a little bit of surprise, "After he and my mother were married?"

"No; I knew him before I knew your mother," she said and bent to apply ointment to his hand, "You're a bit like him, I believe."

"How so?" Charles asked, curious now.

"He was quite a one for the ladies, Eddie was," she said and then added with a fond smile, "Until he met Grace, that is. I don't think he even knew another woman existed once he'd met her."

"That's certainly good to hear," Charles said, "I've always admired my Da. And my mother, of course," he added hastily.

The housekeeper was wrapping his hand now, and Charles was content to watch her work, remembering how it had felt to have Elsie hold his hand in this same way yesterday.

She tied the bandage off and asked, "Are you fond of cards, Mr. Crawley?"

Charles knew what she was asking, the one thing that he did not admire about his father. His mouth set in a tight line, he tried to make his voice light, "I have never played cards, or dice either; seemed like a bit of a waste to me."

She met his eyes and nodded shortly, "There. That will do you then. You should be very careful, Mr. Crawley. I'd not like to see you or anyone else hurt."

"No, ma'am," he answered quietly, "I would never wish to hurt her."

She gave him a genuine smile, "Then I doubt that you ever will."

Charles rose and thanked her for her help before starting toward the stairs.

This trip kept getting more interesting.

_**Reviews are welcome as always.**_


	13. An unexpected event

_**We're drawing closer and closer to the prologue. I still hope you don't think this is dragging out too much. **_

_**Disclaimer #1: Not mine, earn nothing from them.**_

_**Disclaimer #2: Skirting 'not to be read in public.'**_

It wasn't until luncheon that Charles fully realized that the servants, or at least most of them, would be going to the village celebration as well. He decided with warm satisfaction that this would fit in well with his plans. If he were lucky he might be able to walk with Elsie down to the village. If he were very lucky, he might be able to get her alone for a dance away from prying eyes and steal a kiss or two. If he were extremely lucky, he might even be able to get her far enough away for just a little more than a kiss. Not too much or he'd be overcome, but enough so that she wouldn't forget him too soon. Although his intentions toward her were honorable, he was feeling their impending separation acutely. He very much wanted to leave Elsie with memories that would carry her for the next few months and wanted to have his own memories as well. If only he could be sure of the outcome of his discussion with Lord Downton, he would feel more settled about their separation.

As they had previously planned, he made his way to the bench to wait for Elsie after luncheon. He knew that he could make no promises to her, not until he had a chance to speak with Lord Downton, but at least he could make an offer for this evening. His mind turned to his conversation with Mrs. Reynolds while he waited for Elsie. She seemed to suspect something between himself and Elsie, but she raised no objections. Perhaps he could even hope for some help from her. The fact that she knew his father surprised him a little. His father had been a good man in many ways, but Charles was embarrassed by his weakness for gambling. His mother had been left in a precarious predicament because of it. Perhaps his father's greatest weakness was that he always thought there would be more time. No one plans on dying young, but it does happen. Charles would never leave his wife and family like that. In a way, it was why he'd never wanted to take on that responsibility, because he feared he wouldn't be able to meet it.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't hear Elsie approach. She was directly in front of the bench before he realized that she was there. His senses were flooded with her immediately; the sound of her voice, the sight of her, her scent, and even the feeling of warmth from her body. The smile that he greeted her with as he rose reflected his joy at being so completely overwhelmed. She sat quickly, and he was pleased to see that her smile reflected the warmth he felt.

"Was Mrs. Reynolds very suspicious?" she asked quietly.

He smiled, "I think less suspicious than that she knows there is something between us," at her look of dismay, he rushed to reassure her, "She doesn't seem to mind, though, as long as I don't hurt you. And, well," he added with one eyebrow lifted, "I'm also sure that she would prefer that I not try for a bit of fun with you either."

"It would seem that I am more likely to hurt you," she said, indicating his hand, then dropped her gaze to the bench and asked quietly, "Do you want to try?"

"Tr—tr—try what?" he asked, stumbling in surprise.

"For a bit of fun," she whispered, as she traced her finger over the pattern of the bench.

"Yes," he said in a rush, "A thousand times yes, but not now."

"Well, of course not here on this bench, in broad daylight," she answered biting back a smile.

"I didn't mean just that," he said, with a half smile at her small joke, "I meant what I said yesterday. I want that with you. I want to share that with you very much, but not yet. Not until you have a ring on your finger and a different last name."

"Charles," she began, hesitantly, "I thank you for that. You honor me…"

"But…?" he asked.

"But," she said, "It may be a long time before that could happen. Are you sure that you'd want to wait that long?"

He drew his breath in rapidly and stood to his feet, "No amount of time would be too long to wait for you."

"Thank you for that," she said smiling up at him warmly before dropping her gaze back to the bench, "It's just that I'm afraid that you might think I am something that I'm not."

"What exactly do you mean by that?" he asked, turning around to face her fully.

"I am not completely innocent," she said, continuing to study the bench.

He narrowed his eyes at her, "You'll never make me believe that you've been loose with your affections."

"Not loose, exactly," she said carefully, "not anymore at least."

"Elsie," he said softly willing her to look up so that he could meet her eyes, "we both have our pasts. I would never accuse you with yours, and I hope you would return the favor. You don't have to tell me everything, or even anything, if you don't want."

She took a deep breath, "It was when I first took over for my sister, as a live-in everything. I was young, only sixteen. I was lonely. There was a man, a baker's apprentice. He relieved my loneliness, and he made promises, or at least I believed that he did. He married a shopkeeper's daughter."

"You don't believe that I am like that, do you?" he asked, "Making promises that I won't keep just to…, well,…" he trailed off and gestured with his hand.

She paused for long enough that he grew worried, "Elsie?"

"No," she said, shaking her head, "Obviously not. You've been more than gentle with me, too gentle in a way. That's why I'm not waiting for you to ask."

"I see," he said with a great gusting sigh and sat down heavily on the bench, passing his hand over her eyes.

"Do you think I am so awful, then?" she asked, watching his face carefully.

"No, no," he answered, holding his hand up for a moment, with his eyes still closed, "It's just that I didn't expect this."

"I'm sorry to have disappointed you," she said stiffly, standing to her feet.

"Disappointed me?" he asked in astonishment, rising to face her, "What on earth are you talking about?"

"You needn't worry," she laughed scornfully, "It's not as though you've made me any promises. I'm sure you didn't expect that I'd be that type of woman."

He barked out a surprised laugh and then grasped her arm when she tried to turn away, "You are not any type of woman I've ever met before."

She pulled her arm free and started toward the house. Charles started after her quickly. He blocked her path and side-stepped when she tried to go around. He growled commandingly, "Woman, will you please stand still for a moment and let me explain myself?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. He stopped himself just short of smiling. She was gorgeous when she was angry.

"Elsie," he ground out, "I don't give a damn about a relationship you had ten years ago, other than being angry with that man for hurting you. What I didn't expect was for you to offer yourself to me in that way. You're all innocence, and no mistake, Elsie, you are an innocent no matter what that man did to you, but then you're as curious as a cat as well. I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life satisfying your curiosity."

"But you don't want that now?" she asked.

His face flushed red, "At best, love," he said, rubbing the back of his neck furiously, "I won't be able to offer you anything for a year at least. I'll not ask you to live with me in poverty. And what if something happens to me in the meantime? I'll not leave you with any regrets, or with an unexpected memento," he added glancing down significantly.

"I've lived poor before," she said smiling at him, "You underestimate what a woman might live with if she has love."

"Elsie," he warned and started down the path away from her but turned back to see if she would follow. When she came back to his side, he said, "We need, and I want, to discuss this, but I need to walk if we're going to."

"Why do you need to walk?"

His mouth twisted into a half-smile, "Because if we're standing still, I'm afraid I won't be able to resist the urge to pull you into the nearest private place. If we were sitting next to each other, I don't even think I'd bother too much with privacy."

"I still don't understand why you need to resist," she said quietly.

He groaned, "Are you actually trying to torture me? I'm trying to be honorable and respect you."

They walked on in silence for another moment before she broke it by speaking very deliberately and patiently, "You do honor me, Charles, and I know that you respect me. But you should also respect my ability to make choices. I want this with you," she paused and then finished in a rush, "even if I never saw you again, I would still want this."

Increasing his pace, he stopped in front of the door to the nearest shed and looked at her over his shoulder. She watched him questioningly for a moment and then, question apparently answered, stepped through the door ahead of him.

Closing the door firmly behind him, he grasped her upper arms and pressed her back against the door of the shed. Bending to kiss her deeply, he let his hands trail down to her waist and drew her flush against him. When he finally broke away from her lips to trail kisses down her neck, he was gratified to see that she was just as breathless as he was.

"Is this what you want?" he breathed against her neck, "Can you feel that I want you as much or more than you want me? Elsie, I don't think you realize just how difficult it is for me to resist you."

Turning she captured his lower lip between her own, "How many times do I have to say it before you believe it? I want this. I know what the risks are, and I still want this."

He gripped her hips tighter and rocked against her while he covered her mouth with kisses. After several more minutes, he pulled away breathing hard and with eyes glazed, "Is there somewhere we could meet tonight? Anywhere we could be private? And preferably more comfortable than pressed against the wall of this shed?"

She pressed herself tighter against him, not seeming to want to lose contact even for an instant and pulled his head back toward hers. He gave himself over to the kiss with grateful abandon and was confused when she finally answered his question.

"At the end of the men's hall."

"Hmmm?" he grunted in question while he realized that he hadn't yet tasted her earlobe and bent to rectify that oversight.

She moaned at the ministrations of his lips and tongue as he traced the outline of her ear, "There are empty rooms at the end of the men's hall. Things are, ohhh that feels so…," she breathed out, "things are stored there."

"Would those things that are stored there include a mattress?" he asked, pulling away so that he could catch his breath and look at her properly.

"Possibly," she answered, blushing now and dropping her gaze from his.

"Look at me," he commanded and waited patiently for her to comply, "I believe I've proven that I won't force you. You need to think about this carefully the rest of this afternoon. After we've been to the village, I will give you anything you want. Anything, love," he finished emphatically, "And you should know now that I want it too."

She nodded, and he tried to suppress the surge of pride he had at her dazed look. "I should go in now, to get Miss Evangeline ready for tonight."

"You should," he agreed and turned her around, "but first you should let me dust off your backside."

He ran his hands down her back and brushed away the dust that was there, letting his hands linger for just a moment on her curves. Turning her back to face him, he helped her to straighten her dress and leaned back to look at her appraisingly.

"Do I pass inspection?" she asked smiling.

"Not if you're smiling that much," he said, smiling back, "You need to look a bit more severe."

She bit her lip to stop her smile, "Perhaps you should check yourself. If you go in looking like that, anyone would guess what you've been up to."

She leaned toward him to press her lips lightly against his. He pushed her away with his hands on her upper arms, "That is not going to help settle me down, woman. Off with you."

She nodded and left him for the second time in as many days standing in a shed waiting for his now painful condition to resolve.

This trip had definitely taken an unexpected turn.

_**Reviews are welcome as always.**_


	14. The first taste

_**Sorry for the delay, but unfortunately I do have to work to earn money to eat since I don't own these guys and earn nothing but satisfaction from writing about them. **_

_**Disclaimer: See above.**_

Charles was late coming downstairs, frustratingly so. His biggest regret about his delay was that he was sure most of the servants had already left for the village. There would be no pleasant walk with Elsie to the village, but he was certain he could still manage a dance with her. And of course there was the promise of later and that room at the end of the men's hall to look forward to. Stepping into the servants' hall, he saw Mr. Stevens standing by the table with a large crockery jug on it.

"Would you like to try a bit of punch, Mr. Crawley?" he asked a little too cheerfully, "It's our annual contribution to the village celebration."

Charles looked at him suspiciously for a moment but took the offered glass. He lifted it in salute and just as he brought it to his lips, Mr. Stevens said, "You'll want to be easy with that. It is a bit strong for a young man."

Charles glared at him over the rim of the glass; who did he think he was to warn him? Charles wasn't some wet behind the ears lad. He could hold his drink. To prove that fact, he turned up the glass and downed the liquid in one searing gulp. It took all his self control to fight off his grimace and to not succumb to a coughing fit. He smiled grimly and handed the glass back to the butler who merely lifted his eyebrow at him and waved his hand toward the jug, offering another taste.

Charles shook his head at the offer and said, "That was a delicious little drink, Mr. Stevens, but I probably should be starting down to the village."

Mr. Stevens smiled at him knowingly, "Well, certainly, if you don't want to try anymore, you could attempt to catch up with the others," he then added quietly, "James and Bess shouldn't be too far ahead."

Charles's lips tightened at the thought of Elsie walking with James, and he said, "Perhaps just one more glass then, Mr. Stevens. It seems I have more time than I thought."

The glass was duly handed to him, and he downed it just as quickly, noticing that it didn't seem to burn quite as much this time. He held the glass lightly in his hand this time, and Mr. Stevens filled it for him once again. Charles downed the third glass gladly and decided that perhaps the old butler wasn't so bad after all. Smile fixed on his lips, he handed the glass back to Mr. Stevens again, but this time noticed Mrs. Reynolds over the butler's shoulder. She was watching them with an exasperated look as she pulled on her gloves.

"Mr. Stevens, you're not going to waste all that lovely punch on that young man, are you?" she questioned wryly.

Charles held back his grin at the guilty look that passed over the butler's face before the man turned to answer the housekeeper, "Just giving him a little taste of our specialty, Mrs. Reynolds. Are you quite ready to go? There should be room in the cart for the both of us along with the punch."

Mrs. Reynolds fixed her gaze on Charles but addressed Mr. Stevens, "But not for three of us I take it? I suppose you've told Mr. Crawley about the shortcut, then?"

A grimace passed over the butler's face again, and Charles really couldn't quite suppress his smile. He was feeling quite warm and happy inside actually, and the butler's discomfort only added to his joy.

Mrs. Reynolds turned to Charles, "There's a path on the right just past the bicycle shed. If you take it you might get a little dusty, but you'll probably be able to catch up to the others."

Charles stared at her in bewilderment for a moment, trying to comprehend who he was to catch up to, and then he remembered. Elsie; he needed to catch up to Elsie.

He stepped over to the door with only a slight wave of vertigo. Grabbing his hat, he tipped it at Mrs. Reynolds and bowed in the general direction of Mr. Stevens before exiting. He walked with determination along the overgrown path, although he did seem to stumble a bit more than usual. The ground must be very uneven here. He also had to brush limbs away from his face along the way. So Elsie had walked down to the village with James had she? James with the fair hair and annoyingly square jaw. Charles had thought surely she would wait for him, but he had told her to think carefully. Perhaps she had reconsidered her offer of this afternoon. There was a tight feeling of near despair in his chest at the thought. He had believed things were settled between them but maybe they were not. There was no way he was going to give up on her without a fight, however. He finally emerged onto the lane that led down to the village, a little dusty and with one or two brambles hanging from his sleeve. But when he looked toward the village, he saw that the group from the house was not too far ahead of him

Starting after them at a rapid pace, he managed to pluck one of the brambles from his sleeve and worked at dusting off his trousers. He was gratified to notice that Elsie was not walking with the square-jawed groom. There were actually two groups, the women several paces behind the men, who were turning around occasionally to talk and no doubt flirt with the young women. The sound of Elsie's laughter reached his ears, and he started to walk just a little faster. Not able to hold himself back any longer, he called out, "El—Miss Hughes." The entire group of women stopped to look back at him with amusement spreading across their faces. All of the men naturally turned around to witness the commotion as well. He noticed a grimace on the square-jawed James's face, but then he was gratefully distracted by Elsie's approach. She was biting back a smile.

"Hullo, Elsie, love," he said with a broad grin before admonishing her, "I thought you would wait on me."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head at him in exasperation before turning to motion to the others to continue. The large group started toward the village with just the barest hesitation on the part of James. Once she saw they were on their way and disappearing around a curve, Elsie rounded on him, "I thought insisting on waiting on you would give everything away. Although, I suppose discretion is done for now," she scolded, "Could you try to be a little quieter please?"

He might have been offended by her words and tone if she had not stepped closer to him while she was speaking and begun to inspect his clothing for dust and brambles. She had nearly all the brambles picked off by the time she'd finished speaking and motioned for him to bend down so that she could brush one or two leaves from his shoulders. He closed his eyes and inhaled the scent from her hair deeply. "You smell delicious," he said as he bent closer to her neck, "It doesn't bother me for anyone to know we have an understanding," then he looked at her quizzically, "Does it bother you?"

"Not at all," she answered breathlessly, tilting her head to the side a little, "But perhaps you shouldn't be kissing my neck in the middle of the lane in broad daylight."

He paused to kiss the area behind her left ear one more time before straightening and grasping her waist to pull her back toward the wooded area to the side, "Then come here and let me kiss your neck, and your lips, and your ear, and other parts of you in these woods. We could hide here until dark at least."

She allowed him to draw her into the edge of the woods without protest and succumbed to his kisses with eagerness, "Have you been drinking?"

"Just the merest taste," he said, holding up his hand with fingers barely apart to illustrate.

"Just a taste?" she asked, nibbling on his lower lip.

"Well, maybe two or three tastes," he clarified before invading her mouth with his tongue. He leaned back against a tree and pulled her with him. Letting his hands roam down her back, he cupped her bottom and pulled her tight against his body. She moaned softly before lifting her head from his.

"What exactly did you have?"

"Some sort of punch," he said distracted, as he began to remove the pins from her hat, "You know, we don't have to go down to the village. We could just stay right here."

"No," she said, pushing her hands against his chest, "we do have to go to the village, and soon. They're already going to be wondering what has kept us. And three glasses?" she asked incredulously, "That punch is pretty strong."

"So Mr. Stevens tried to warn me," he said, "Maybe that's why I can't quite rouse myself to care what anyone else thinks. I just want you, Elsie. As close to me as possible."

"And you'll have me," she answered, stretching up to press her lips to his, "But after we've been to the village, and do try to act sensible. I can't risk losing my position."

"Well, as to that," he said as he straightened and re-buttoned the top of her blouse, "I have a bit of news for you."

"News?" she asked, straightening his tie and turning him so that she could brush the dust from the back of his trousers. She let her hand linger for a moment on his bottom, and he grasped her wrist in surprise.

"Wicked woman! What should I do with you?" he teased as he drew her back to his chest.

She smiled against his jacket and said, "Hopefully tell me your news before I burst from curiosity."

He hugged her once more before releasing her and starting toward the lane. She stood still for a moment in disappointment until he turned back to her and offered her his arm.

Once they were walking down the lane again, he began, "I spoke with Lord Downton this afternoon…"

"Surprising," she interrupted dryly, "since he is your employer."

"If you want to be satisfied, you'll need to let me finish, cheeky woman," he said severely.

"Promise?" she asked with an impish smile.

"You, my dear," he said, "are begging to be dragged back into the woods."

"Surely you could do better than that," she scoffed.

He looked at her seriously for a moment, "I certainly hope to. Now, are you going to pay attention?"

She nodded, and he squeezed her hand on his arm before continuing, "I asked him how he would feel about having a married valet." He paused and looked at her to gauge her reaction. She was staring down at their joined hands on his arm, and her breath had quickened. The next words poured out of him in a rush, "He indicated that while he would never want a married man in a position like steward or butler, he didn't think it would cause problems in a valet. He is, however, planning on a long journey soon and since I would have to go with him, anything would have to wait until he returns. I'm afraid it would be six months at least, maybe just after Christmas. Although I would hope it would be sooner. I would like to spend this first Christmas with…"

"Charles, are you asking…" she whispered in a choked voice.

He stopped her and dropped down to one knee, "I want to do this properly. Elsie Hughes, would you consent to marry a simple valet? At least for a little while, until we can save a bit and maybe open a shop or a hotel. I couldn't promise you much at first. We'd probably just have one or two rooms, falling all over each other all the time. Although, I can't say that I would mind that very much, as a matter of fact it might be fun to fall all over you all the time, as long as you didn't mind falling all over me a little too. I'm sorry that I don't have a ring. I wasn't exactly planning on getting engaged on this trip, and anyway I would need to give you my mother's…"

She thankfully cut off his rambling with a deep and tender kiss. Pulling away after a few moments, she smiled down at him, "Yes."

He stood and drew her against him again so that he could kiss her properly.

He had been right. This was going to be the most wonderful trip of his life.

_**Reviews are welcome as always**_


	15. Dancing with all the wrong people

_**Sorry for the delay. Darn work. Hopefully a slightly longer chapter makes up for it.**_

_**Disclaimer: Not owned by me.**_

Charles and Elsie finally made their way to the village celebration without too much delay. Although she had to resist most of his attempts to coax her into the woods, and he had to resist her attempts at torture by reminding him of their planned rendezvous later that night. Their first disagreement as a couple almost began over whether to keep their engagement secret. Charles couldn't help but feel uneasy about the deception, but Elsie would have to remain behind at Holbrook House for a little while at least. She was uncomfortable with Mr. Stevens knowing that she would marry another man, and one she had known for such a short time. Charles was just as uncomfortable about her remaining in the same house with the old leech, but the presence of Mrs. Reynolds calmed his fears. Also, no matter how much he disliked the man personally, he agreed with Elsie that the butler would never harm her. He was too much of a stickler for the rules.

The long, slow stroll had also allowed Charles's head to clear from the alcohol a bit more, although now it was clouded with thoughts of Elsie. Elsie had painted some vivid word pictures of her plans for this evening, and his mind had filled in the details. It was a wonder that they had made it to the village at all. He was determined to stay away from that very strong punch for the rest of the evening. There was no way that he was going to miss out on showing her how much he loved her in every way. Especially since the memories of this evening would have to sustain both of them for six months at least.

Their delay had also given time for the celebration to be well and truly underway by the time they arrived. Couples, young and old, were dancing in a clearing surrounded by hanging lanterns. There were also several tables set up around the clearing, some with groups sitting at them and some with refreshments on them. Charles was amused to see a large crowd surrounding the booth that held the punch. There would likely be a lot of sore heads in the morning.

His dearest wish was to find a quiet corner where he and Elsie could settle in and simply enjoy the music, perhaps even dance a little, but privately. His plans were thwarted by the sheer number of people from the village that Elsie seemed to know, and all of them were overwhelmingly curious about the strange man with whom she'd arrived. He grinned inwardly at the thought that no matter how secret his Scottish love wanted to keep their engagement there was sure to be a lot of speculation about them in the coming weeks. That fact suited him. It would be much more difficult for her to forget him if on every half day and Sunday some village busybody asked her about her new beau. After two or three encounters with well-meaning women who inspected him carefully to see if he was good enough for the beautiful lass at his side, he was able to escape in an effort to retrieve some refreshing lemonade for Elsie and himself.

Before he could make his way through the crowd surrounding the punch from Holbrook House to the much less crowded table containing lemonade, he was intercepted by Madge. He greeted her with all the false warmth he could manage, "How nice to see you! Are you enjoying the evening?"

"I am," she replied with a sly smile, "but apparently not as much as you enjoyed your walk. You and Bess certainly took your time getting here."

"That was my fault entirely, I'm afraid," he replied truthfully, and then his mind raced to come up with a reason that had nothing to do with kissing a blue-eyed maid senseless in the woods, "I tripped on my first day here, and my leg is still not quite right. Miss Hughes was kind enough to put up with my slowness."

Her smile broadened in amusement as she pretended to believe him, "Bess is always the soul of kindness, ready to take any injured thing under her protection."

"Is that so?" he asked and cleared his throat as he tried to think of a way to change the subject, "The music is lovely. Have you had a chance to dance?"

"No; I have not," she answered, "But I would love to."

She watched him expectantly for a moment, and he realized that he had fallen head first into a trap. There was no plausible excuse he could think of for not asking her to dance without revealing his engagement to Elsie.

Sighing inwardly, he resigned himself to his duty, "Would you care to dance with me, then?"

Her assent was so rapid and enthusiastic that it solidified his certainty that she had planned the whole exchange. When would he learn not to stuff his foot so completely in his mouth? As they danced around the clearing, he realized that she was a pleasant enough partner, but she just felt wrong in his arms; too thin, too tall, voice all wrong. As for the dancing, they seemed to be almost moving at cross purposes. It seemed that the only person who would ever fit properly in his embrace again was petite with pleasing curves and could match his movements perfectly.

When the dance was finished, he bowed politely before lifting his eyes to search for Elsie. His jaw clenched when his gaze finally found her preparing to dance with James, of all people. Calming himself enough to avoid stalking over and causing a scene, he reasoned that she likely had to dance with him for the same reason he'd been forced to dance with Madge; to keep their engagement at least somewhat secret. Taking a deep breath, he decided that his best course of action would be to have a glass of refreshing lemonade waiting for her after the dance.

Walking toward the refreshment tables, he managed to glance back over his shoulder only two or three times to gauge her response to James. When he saw her laugh at something the big buffoon said, he nearly stumbled. She might have to dance with the man, but she didn't have to have a good time. He stopped for a moment to watch them and chewed at his inner jaw. His brooding was interrupted once again by Madge who was standing at his elbow and offering him a glass, "Would you like a bit of punch, Mr. Crawley? It's the specialty of Holbrook House."

It was on the tip of his tongue to refuse politely when he saw James twirl Elsie around out of the corner of his eye. He took the glass with a nod of thanks and gulped the liquid down. As Madge took the empty glass, Elsie looked in his direction with a worried frown. He met her gaze defiantly for a moment, and then turned his gaze away to look at the other dancers. No matter how much he tried to concentrate on other couples, he couldn't avoid seeing James leaning down to speak close to Elsie's ear and Elsie smiling at his comments. He ground his teeth until Madge returned with another glass, "You drank the last one so quickly that I thought you might like another."

He took the glass from her and nodded slowly before shaking his head to clear it a little. There had been a very good reason that he hadn't wanted to drink any more of this lovely punch, but at the moment that reason was escaping him. This time he sipped the punch thoughtfully. Madge took his free arm, and he was too preoccupied with watching for the dance to end to notice or care.

He was twirling the glass in his hand, keeping time to what was surely the longest song in the world and watching Elsie and square-jaw spin around the clearing. Suddenly his hand grew lighter as the glass was lifted from it. Looking down, he met the grimly amused gaze of Mrs. Reynolds.

"Mr. Crawley, I see that you caught up to the others," she glanced over at Madge meaningfully.

Charles followed her gaze and realized with surprise that the fair-haired maid was clinging to his arm. He seized desperately on the only way he could think to extricate himself from her grip with a modicum of dignity. "Would you care to dance, Mrs. Reynolds?"

"If you're as light on your feet as your father, I would love to," she agreed with a nod.

Realizing that Elsie's dance had finally ended and another was beginning, he took the older lady in his arms and glanced briefly over his shoulder to note with a frustrated growl that Elsie was being handed off to another man, albeit one with a slightly less square jaw.

"Mr. Crawley, it has been a while since I danced with a young man, but I believe it is customary to at least look at one's dance partner," the smile in the housekeeper's voice took a little of the sting out of her words. He looked down at her and returned her smile.

"I am sorry," he replied, "I believe I've had a bit too much of that punch. I'm easily distracted tonight."

She waited until they had begun dancing and established a comfortable pace before answering, "I can see that you've been very distracted for the past few days in fact, and I don't think you can blame all of it on the punch."

The corner of his lip lifted, and he nodded in acknowledgement of her keen assessment, "I have been distracted, but in the best way possible, I believe."

"Oh, I won't deny that it is a good way to be distracted," she agreed, "but I wonder if you know where you are going, lad."

"I must confess that I don't know the path I'm walking on very well," he said seriously, "but I do know who I want as my companion."

"Is that why you were standing with Madge, then?" she asked with a raised eyebrow, "I was right. You are like your father. Are you named after him too?"

He frowned at the comparison he thought she was making, "No; that is, Edward is my middle name. My name is Charles. I'm not like my father in every way."

"Perhaps not, Charles Carson," she sighed, emphasizing his name, "but you should be careful or you'll break her heart."

There was no need to ask which her she was referring to. "I intend to treat her heart like the treasure it is," he said softly.

She watched him for a moment and then seemed to come to a decision with a short nod of her head, "Why are you dancing with an old housekeeper when you could be with her?"

"I was with her," he said forcefully, then continued in a quieter voice, "We walked here together, but then we were separated and Madge…"

"Swooped in," she supplied helpfully.

"Exactly," he nodded, "and now I can't seem to find my way back to her."

"Well, as to that," she said with a smile, "You'll have to trust to a little help."

The music stopped, and he followed Mrs. Reynolds's gaze to see Elsie standing only a few feet away, a little breathless. He looked down at the round housekeeper with a broad grin, "May God bless you and keep you all the days of your life."

"Stop flannelling and don't botch it," she said with a half smile before turning to the groom who'd been dancing with Elsie, "Tobias, I need your help by the refreshment table."

Charles turned to Elsie with the remains of his grin still on his face. It was quickly wiped away by the hurt and angry look in her eyes. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her to dance but he realized that the band was taking a break. Instead, he offered her his arm which she glared at for a moment before taking.

"Would you like me to get you some lemonade? All that dancing must have made you very thirsty," he asked tightly as they started toward the refreshment tables.

She watched the ground in front of their feet, "Last time you left in search of refreshment, you ended up in Madge's arms."

"That woman is dangerous," he ground out, "She cornered me, and I had to either dance with her or tell her things you don't want her to know. What would you have had me do?"

She sighed and looked up at him through her lashes. His heart stuttered and then began to race as he knew all was going to be well. "I suppose you did the only thing you could. But why did you let her hold you after?"

"I didn't even realize," he said, glaring down at her, "I was too busy watching where that boy you were dancing with put his hands."

"James?" she asked incredulously, "He's like a brother."

"Brothers do not hold their sisters like that," Charles answered firmly with eyebrows drawn dangerously low.

"Charles, he's engaged," she said.

"Engaged to do what?"

"To be married, you silly man," she answered with a laugh, "To a girl from the village. If you'd stayed with me a little longer after we'd come here, you would have met her."

"Oh." That fact took the wind out of his sails, "What about Tobias?"

"What about him?" she asked, "He's seventeen. I would hardly want a boy for a man's job." She squeezed his arm gently with her last words, and his heart stuttered again.

They had made their way to the refreshment tables by now and were to the front of the line for lemonade. He started to take two glasses but she stopped him, putting one back. She motioned toward the table with the punch, and he shook his head, "I don't think I should have any more of that tonight."

"I didn't say you should," she said smiling up at him, "but perhaps I would like some."

"Elsie, that punch is strong," he said with raised eyebrows, "Are you sure that you…"

She cut him off sharply, "I am not a child. I have had this punch before."

With that, she dropped his arm and stepped over to the other table to grab a glass of the punch for herself. She smiled at him and lifted it in a toast before drinking the entire glass. He shook his head in amusement, and she picked up another glass before walking back to his side. He picked up a glass of lemonade for himself and offered her his free arm. They strolled away from all the other people toward the edge of the clearing. Elsie directing their steps so that they found themselves surrounded by a few trees, effectively shielded from everyone else's eyes. There was a twisted tree with the trunk growing low to the ground, making a suitable bench. He directed her toward it, and they sat down with his arm around her shoulders pulling her close to his side.

Taking a sip of his lemonade, he grimaced at the taste. Not quite as good as that punch, but then his head was already buzzing and now he could very clearly remember why he had wanted to avoid the punch in the first place. He bent to speak quietly in Elsie's ear, "My love, if you don't think I know by now you're not a child, you've not been paying attention these past few days."

She turned her head to capture his lips in a kiss, and he was intoxicated by the mixture of her taste with the taste of the punch. They explored each other's lips for a few moments with her hand on his thigh and his arm drawing her closer to his side, and then he stopped abruptly and set his glass on the ground, taking hers from her as well. Both hands free now, he turned toward her completely and drew her into his embrace. One of her hands found its way to his hair, knocking his hat to the ground and the other snaked under his jacket. He sighed in satisfaction. She leaned back to look up at him, "What is it?"

"I was right," he said in between light kisses to the side of her neck, "No one else will ever feel right in my arms again. You're perfect; nice curves instead of angles, even your voice has rounded edges instead of sharp corners."

She laid her head on his shoulder, breath coming in short gasps, "I don't think anyone else will ever feel right to me again either."

"That makes me very happy," he said, drawing her closer and placing kisses on her hair.

She sighed and caressed his back, "We need to calm down."

"We do," he agreed resignedly and then jumped as her hand strayed lower, "That will not help me, woman."

She laughed softly and pressed her cheek to his chest, "I suppose not, but it is helping me."

"Witch," he rumbled next to her ear with a smile in his voice, "You'll be the death of me, but I will die ecstatically happy."

"Not for a very long time I hope," she whispered and tightened her hold on him.

He looked up at the sound of someone crashing through the woods coming toward them and nearly groaned at the sight of his employer. He stood and grimaced inwardly at the smug almost smile on the man's face. He could expect relentless quizzing later.

"Lord Downton, sir," he said, standing between Elsie and the Viscount, "Were you in need of anything? I apologize for not seeking you out earlier."

The Viscount waved his hand dismissively, "No, Carson, it's not you I need, but I do need to find Miss Evangeline's maid. I thought you might have some idea where she would be."

Charles almost groaned again at the colossal irony of the whole situation and heard Elsie stand to her feet behind him. He stepped aside and said, "May I present Miss Hughes, sir?"

Elsie gave a small curtsey and asked, "Am I needed, sir?"

Lord Downton's eyebrow shot to his hairline and when he glanced quickly over at Charles there was no 'almost' about his smile now. "Yes; it seems that Miss Evangeline is a little ill and would like to return to the house. She would like you to accompany her."

Elsie nodded briskly, and the three of them started in the direction Lord Downton indicated. He turned to Elsie one more time, "Pardon my curiosity, but you're not from Lancashire, are you?"

"No; sir," she answered respectively, "I am originally from Argyll."

His Lordship shot Charles a triumphant look over his shoulder, and Charles did groan just a little in expectation of their conversation later that night.

This trip was definitely getting complicated.

_**Reviews are welcome as always**_


	16. Dancing with the right person

_**We're drawing closer and closer to the prologue. Thanks to Batwings79 for taking a quick look at it. Although, I did break it off before the real fun began. Next chapter up later today, I promise.**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own them and make nothing from them.**_

Charles and Lord Downton left Elsie to tend to Miss Evangeline while they went to sort out a carriage to carry the young lady back to the house. It seemed that the combination of the punch and dancing had given the girl a headache. The Viscount apparently couldn't resist tweaking Charles.

Lord Downton spoke to Charles in a low voice, "She's so frail, I don't think I could ever… And then there's the financial situation…", he caught himself and straightened, "It looks like we'll definitely make a trip to the United States, Carson. I will be sorry to take you away from your Scottish maid, however. I take it this is why you were asking about my opinion on a married valet?"

Charles struggled to avoid blushing and to keep a straight face, "I am still your valet, sir. I will go where you go. I couldn't let anything interfere with serving you."

"She's very pretty," his Lordship said thoughtfully, "Although, I didn't notice a temper."

Charles glanced at him with a wry twist of his mouth, "It is not always in evidence, sir, and we are at a dance."

"Nevertheless," Lord Downton said, biting back a smile, "It seemed that you were doing rather a good job of calming her."

Charles did blush then, but with only the faintest tinge to his cheeks. He was thankful for the darkness which hid the extent of his embarrassment, even if it could not cover his quick swallow. By this time, they had found the appropriate carriage, and he was spared having to come up with any response.

As they rode the carriage back to where the ladies waited, Lord Downton turned to him, "You see them safely back to the house and remain there if you wish. I'll sort myself out. You may retire."

As he started to protest, Lord Downton cut him off with a wave of his hand, "I have taken care of myself both at school and in my regiment. I am capable of removing my own clothes, and I have no idea when or if I'll return to the house tonight. No need for both of us to have a sleepless night." Then he glanced at Elsie and back at Charles with a wry smile, "Besides it'll give you more time to work on that temper."

Charles wisely chose not to make any response other than a quick nod of his head. Once they had their respective ladies settled, and Charles was prepared to climb up beside Elsie, he felt a hand on his sleeve. Turning back, he saw that Lord Downton was holding out a bottle of wine. "I had hoped to share this with someone tonight, but it seems that's not to be. Try this on your maid's temper."

Charles held back the smile that threatened and nodded gratefully, settling the bottle into the crook of his arm as they started off. Elsie turned to him with a questioning look, and he shook his head, "Lord Downton was simply letting me know he wouldn't require my services any more tonight. How is your mistress?"

Elsie sighed, "She will be fine, I believe. These headaches come on her suddenly at times, and she just has to rest in a quiet, dark room. Any type of stress seems to bring them on."

"I think his Lordship was trying to be anything but stressful," he said with a quirked eyebrow and lip. Elsie gave him a sharp look and then glanced over at Tobias who looked none too happy to be leaving the party.

She smiled at the boy and said softly, "Tobias, I see no reason that you will have to remain once you've delivered us to the house. As a matter of fact, it would probably be best if you took the carriage back to the party."

Tobias seemed to brighten at that prospect and straightened, "I suppose you're right, Miss. Wouldn't do for the gentry to not have enough carriages to bring them home, would it?"

Charles's heart began to race as he thought he could guess what Elsie was doing. To confirm his suspicions, he said in a low voice close to her ear to avoid being overheard, "I am sorry that your evening is ruined as well, Miss Hughes. I suppose you'll have to remain with Miss Evangeline all night?"

She returned the small smile that he was giving her and said just as quietly, breath brushing his cheek "No; actually, once she is settled she prefers to be alone. I will have to remain at the house, of course. I do hate to miss the party, but there will be other compensations."

"Other compensations?" he asked trying to contain his glee, "I hate for you to miss out on such a lovely celebration as well. Perhaps I could keep you company?"

"As long as you don't think it will be too big of a sacrifice," she answered, and he could definitely hear the smile in her voice now.

"I will miss the party as well," he said, "but as you know, I do have a book to read if I get bored."

"And how much of that book have you read on this trip, Mr. Crawley?" she asked curiously.

"The title page," he answered honestly and was rewarded with a quick squeeze of his knee.

When they reached the house, Elsie helped the young lady inside, for once going through the front door which was held open by the unlucky footman who had been left behind, and Tobias was kind enough to drive Charles around to the back. The house was not completely deserted, but it might as well have been. There was that single footman who was waiting in the entry hall for the return of the family, and the few lesser servants who had been too young to go to the celebration were already drifting off to sleep. Charles took the liberty of encouraging them to go to bed, after entertaining them for a few minutes with descriptions of the party.

Once he was alone in the servant's hall, he busied himself with making tea. He heard the soft rustle of her skirts and caught her lightly pleasing scent while he was fixing the tray. Paying careful attention to pouring the tea, he didn't turn around to greet her but waited for her to come to his side. She stood waiting patiently for him to finish. She squeezed his arm, and he pushed a cup into her free hand.

"I need this to counter the effects of that punch," he said, taking a sip from his mug, "I would like my head to be very clear tonight."

"I believe that I would like that as well," she said taking her own sip and leaning back against the counter, "Miss Evangeline is asleep."

"Ahhh," he said, taking another sip, "And when will the others be home?"

"Not until very late, or early I should say," she answered, sipping her own tea.

Raising an eyebrow at her, he leaned dangerously close to her and kissed her softly. She took the mug from his hand and moved toward the sink. She took the time to rinse out both mugs and the teapot before turning back to him. He grasped her hand and pulled her against him so that he could whisper softly against her lips, "Is it too early?"

She closed the distance between their lips and pressed hers to his. She pressed her forehead to his and grasped his lapel. "Perhaps it is a little early," she breathed softly, "And we still haven't danced."

"That I can rectify," he said putting his free hand on her waist and beginning to dance.

She smiled against his cheek, "There's no music. How are we going to keep time?"

He pulled her closer and sang against her ear,

_When I was a bachelor, I liv'd all alone_  
><em>I worked at the weaver's trade<em>  
><em>And the only, only thing that I ever did wrong<em>  
><em>Was to woo a fair young maid.<em>  
><em>I wooed her in the wintertime<em>  
><em>And in the summer, too<em>  
><em>And the only, only thing that I did that was wrong<em>  
><em>Was to keep her from the foggy, foggy dew.<em>

She pressed her cheek against his shoulder, and they barely swayed as they moved around in slow circles. Sighing in contentment, he continued,

_One night she came to my bedside_  
><em>When I was fast asleep.<em>  
><em>She laid her head upon my bed<em>  
><em>And she began to weep.<em>  
><em>She sighed, she cried, she nearly died<em>  
><em>She said what shall I do?<em>  
><em>So I hauled her into bed and covered up her head<em>  
><em>Just to keep her from the foggy foggy dew.<em>

He smiled at her small gasp of surprise and pulled back so that he could watch her eyes as he sang the last lines of the song,

_So, I am a bachelor, I live with my son_  
><em>and we work at the weaver's trade.<em>  
><em>And every single time that I look into his eyes<em>  
><em>He reminds me of that fair young maid.<em>  
><em>He reminds me of the wintertime<em>  
><em>And of the summer, too,<em>  
><em>And of the many, many times that I held her in my arms<em>  
><em>Just to keep her from the foggy, foggy, dew.<em>

They continued to dance for a few more moments after his voice had trailed off, and he pulled her head back to his shoulder, letting his cheek rest on her hair. She whispered her question against the side of his neck, "And will you?"

"Protect you from the foggy, foggy dew?" he asked softly and continued at feeling her nod, "I thought that was what we were doing later."

She stopped abruptly and stepped away but held his hand tightly. Looking back only once over her shoulder, she led him toward the men's staircase with only a slight pause so that he could snatch the wine bottle from the table. Her eyes were filled with so much shy eagerness that he wanted to throw her over his shoulder and carry her up the stairs, but he held back and let her take him where she wanted to go.

He didn't think he'd ever looked forward to a trip this eagerly.

_**Reviews are welcome as always and smut is promised in the next chapter.**_


	17. The end of the journey

_**The promised smuttiness. Definitely pushes the edge of the T-ness, like right to the very edge and clinging by fingernails. If you don't like that sort of thing, please don't read. If you do, please review. ;-)**_

_**Disclaimer: Not mine. Earn nothing from them. If you couldn't figure out from above, it's probably not suitable for work or public reading.**_

When they reached the top of the staircase, he stopped her with a hand on her arm and checked to see that the corridor was clear. Once he was sure of her safety, he let her lead the way to the room at the end of the corridor. They stepped into the room, and he pulled her to him to kiss her with the slowly growing passion that came from the knowledge that they were going to finish everything they started tonight.

She reached for his tie, but he stopped her hand and pushed her away a little so that he could get his bearings. He was grateful for the moonlight that was streaming through the window which would allow him to see everything tonight. There were a few mattresses leaning against the far wall, and he stepped over to let one down gently on the floor. Looking at it, he was annoyed by the narrowness and pulled down another one to lie beside it. As he arranged them on the floor, she busied herself by pulling a couple of blankets out of a cupboard. Once he was satisfied, he turned back to see her amused gaze.

"Preparing for something, are you?" she asked with a slight tremor in her voice.

He watched her eyes carefully for any sign of regret, "Is there any need to pretend why we are here?"

"No, Charles," she answered clearly, stepping toward him and letting the blankets drop to the mattresses, "there is no need to pretend."

He caught her hips in his hands and stepped into her embrace, dipping his lips to meet hers. When she pushed his jacket off his shoulders and reached hurriedly for his tie, he lifted his head, "Elsie, love, we're not in a race. Let's savor every moment. Memories of this will have to last us for six months at least."

"I don't want to race," she answered in frustration, catching his bottom lip between hers, "I just want to feel your skin against mine."

"But," he said as he lifted his hand to the buttons of her blouse, "the undressing is part of the fun. Appreciating each inch of skin as it is revealed," he added as kissed the skin at the base of her neck, "and anticipating seeing more."

He continued to work at the buttons of her blouse, kissing his way down to the swell of her breasts. Her eyes were half closed in pleasure, and her breathing was shallow and rapid when he paused to return his attention to her lips. This time, he didn't stop her when she reached for his tie, and he even removed his hand from her hip to help. She batted his hand away and unraveled his tie herself. He chuckled at her commanding gesture and said, "Get rid of the collar too. Not much use to be without tie if my collar is still there."

Her fingers fumbled with the top button, and she growled in frustration at his stubborn collar. He lifted his hand to help, pausing before working the button loose to look at her in amusement, "May I?"

"If you'll just get rid of that blasted collar, I'll take care of the rest of you," she replied smiling back into his eyes.

He removed his collar and looked down at her seriously once more, "I'll hold you to that promise, woman."

His voice rose slightly on the last word because she had begun to soothe the reddened skin of his neck with her lips.

"Is the collar that bothersome?" she asked, frowning at his irritated skin.

"Very," he said, "I think I'll need this treatment every night."

In answer, she turned her attention to the other side of his neck. He enjoyed these ministrations long enough that he began to feel light-headed from his arousal.

"Surely your corset is just as bothersome," he whispered into her hair.

"It is," she agreed, "Does that mean you'll give me the same treatment?"

Her blouse and skirt quickly joined the growing pile of clothes on the floor. He distracted her by kissing the swell of her bosom over her corset and began to work those fastenings loose as well.

"To treat you properly, I really must insist on your lying down," he said with mock seriousness before sucking lightly at the very white skin in the valley of her breasts and grinned in triumph when he dropped her corset to the floor. He stepped back to admire the sight of her bare breasts and trim legs clad only in stockings and then took a step toward her to help her lie down.

"Wait," she pushed at his chest, "I want the pleasure of appreciating every inch of skin," she said brushing her lips across the hollow at the base of his neck, "and anticipating seeing more," she added working loose the top button of his shirt.

A smile played around his lips for a moment before he leaned back to allow her to work. She laboriously loosed each button on his shirt, caressing his skin as it was revealed with fingers and lips.

"Elsie," he rasped as she started to draw his shirt from his trousers, "You don't have to go so slow. Finish so we can lie down."

"It was you that said we should savor every moment," she whispered against the skin beside his navel as she knelt before him.

"Did I?" he asked in a slightly dazed voice, leaning forward as her breath caressed his waist and she brushed the back of her hand over the straining, throbbing bulge of his trousers, "That was incredibly stupid of me."

His hands met hers on the front of his trousers and worked them loose as quickly as his fumbling fingers would allow. Grasping her elbows, he lifted her to face him and stepped back to remove his socks and shoes. She watched him with a curious smile and unlaced her own shoes so that she could step out of them.

"Leave the stockings," he whispered in a hoarse growl, "I'll take care of those."

She nodded but reached behind her to untie her knickers, and he stood completely still for a moment in fascination as she let them fall to the floor. He suddenly felt almost painfully constrained by his trousers which he pushed in one smooth motion with his underpants to the floor. His eyes traveled over her body before meeting her eyes, and he noticed the faint tinge to her cheeks as she studied him as well.

He reached forward to draw her as carefully as he could force himself into his embrace, "You're embarrassed?"

She laughed softly against his cheek, "Silly isn't it? Considering what we're going to do."

"Elsie, if you want to leave…"

She cut him off quickly with a fierce and hungry kiss, pulling away only to kiss him once more for good measure. "Don't even think of offering that again. I've made my choice, and you said you knew I was not a child."

He barked a laugh, "You are most certainly not a child." Running his hands appreciatively over her curves, he drew her closer so that his desire rested heavily against her stomach.

"It just seems so," she struggled to find the right word, "_bold_, somehow to see each other completely and in such clear light."

He pushed back on her shoulders a little and tilted her head back with his hand on her cheek so that he could meet her gaze fully. "Elsie, my love," he began soothingly, "I want you to be the last woman I ever make love to. I intend to see all of you, touch all of you, and taste all of you."

He matched his actions to his words as he let his hands roam down to her hips and bottom, fingers ghosting toward her center. His lips found her neck and the soft skin behind her left ear that seemed to excite her so much.

She tilted her head to the side and pressed herself closer before sighing, "With."

"Beg pardon?" he stopped and looked up at her in confusion.

"Don't stop," she commanded with a wrinkle of frustration between her eyebrows, "You'll make love _with_ me. I want to be fully involved."

He shook his head in amusement at her eagerness before tugging her toward the mattresses, "Then come here and let me finish treating you for that bothersome corset."

Laying her down gently, he knelt between her legs and studied her body, trailing his hands up her sides. He slid his hands under the edge of her stockings and rolled them down her legs, letting the tips of his fingers caress her calves and thighs.

When he rose to look at her, she was lying with her eyes closed and mouth slightly parted. He watched her until she looked at him questioningly. "I just want to remember you like that," he said before bending to catch her nipple between his lips.

She gasped and her arms came up from her sides to clutch his head closer to her chest. He released her breast to trail soft kisses along her sides and across her abdomen. Her hands went from clutching his head close to tracing circles on his shoulders and the back of his head. When he felt that he had treated her fully for the bothersome corset, he shifted lower on the mattresses and leaned forward to kiss her center. She sat up immediately and looked at him, "Charles?"

"Has anyone done this for you before?" he rumbled against her thigh and was rewarded by a tremor running through her. She shook her head in confusion and he said, "Good. When I said I wanted to taste you, I meant all of you. Relax and let me give you this pleasure." When she remained tense, he pressed a kiss firmly against the very top of her thigh and said more forcefully, "Relax, love."

He felt the tenseness drain slowly away and bent forward to kiss her center again. He let his tongue dart out to spread her folds apart, seeking her taste and the small, throbbing bundle of nerves that would bring her the greatest pleasure. Finding it expertly, he lathed it with his tongue. That he'd found the right spot was confirmed by her short, rapid breaths and by her hands clutching at his hair. He ignored everything but the taste of her on his tongue, tasting and lavishing attention on her completely. Gripping her bottom in the palms of his hands, he used his thumbs to pull her folds gently apart and allowed his tongue deeper entry. She began to writhe in his hands, straining to push herself closer, and he quickly returned his tongue to the nub at her center, feeling it almost vibrate against his lips as he flicked across it. Tensing for a moment, her hips lifted off the mattress and then she fell back against it, completely limp. He rose to look at her and admired her spent form. Her hair was in disarray, and a flush spread across her cheeks and chest. Her skin was moist and a few drops of sweat trickled down between her breasts. He was certain he'd never seen or would see a sight this beautiful until the next time they made love.

Watching her, raised on one elbow over her and with his other hand on her hip, he saw her breathing gradually slow to normal and waited patiently until she opened her eyes to look at him.

"Charles, that was…" she shook her head as though trying to find the words, "How will we ever get anything done when we're married? I'll not want you to ever leave the bed."

He laughed in satisfaction, "I suppose that I will have to work very hard so that I can come back to you as quickly as possible."

She smiled up at him and then lifted her hand to smooth back the curl on his forehead. Letting her hand trail down his cheek to the back of his neck and hooking her leg around his, she pulled him down to kiss him, gently at first and then deeper as he felt her pressing her center against him again. When her moist curls brushed against his desire, he was nearly overwhelmed. Then she reached between them to caress along his length, and he tensed, taking deep breaths and rasped out in a strained voice, "Please, I'm so close."

He felt her shift her hips slightly and she grasped him again, more firmly this time, to guide him to her entrance. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on anything but how warm and moist and oh so tight she felt around him. He was able to hold himself back until she shifted under him again, lifting her hips toward his. Opening his eyes to look at her, he saw that she was watching his face with an expression of amused wonder. His love for her overwhelmed him at that moment, and he wanted to show her that she was the only woman he would ever love, his mate, his wife, and his lover. Covering her lips with a kiss, he began to move, to thrust, gently at first. She wrapped her legs around his hips and grasped his back pulling him closer, urging him on with words and sighs against his ear. His thrusts became more forceful and erratic as he started to lose control. Then she cried out against his cheek and bit down on his shoulder, and he lost all reason completely. He finished with just a few more hard, deep, thrusts, grasping her hips to draw her tight against him with every movement.

All the strength drained from his body with his release, and he fell heavily at her side, trying desperately to breathe. As he drifted slowly back to reality, he felt her hands caressing his chest and sides, soothing him.

He kissed her shoulder and pulled her against him with his hand on her hip. Looking deeply into her eyes, he knew this was a trip he never wanted to return from.

_**Reviews are welcome as always.**_


	18. Afterglow

_**Very near the end of this part. I hope y'all still enjoy. Um, this chapter kind of got away from me, or I should say Charles did. A bit closer to M than I wanted.**_

_**Disclaimer: Don't own them. Have to work a real job to make money to support my DA addiction. **_

Charles struggled against the effects of the alcohol and satisfaction to stay awake. He didn't want to miss any of this night. Elsie snuggled in closer to his shoulder, and he admired the way her hair fanned over his chest, tickling him lightly. Kissing her hair, he tightened his hold on her shoulders

"I take it you find me acceptable for future services," he whispered against her cheek.

She stretched out against him, "Mmmmm. Only for a lifetime."

"Lucky for you that's all I'm offering," he said as he sat up to pull the blanket over them. When he sat up he spotted the wine bottle on the floor beside the door and rose to retrieve it. She looked at him in confusion, "Lord Downton gave that to you, didn't he?"

"He did," Charles agreed with a nod as he searched his trouser pocket for his clasp knife, "To share with you actually."

"He knows about us?"

"Well, he did come upon us with you in my arms," he said, grunting in satisfaction when he worked the cork loose from the bottle, "but I doubt he would guess that we were drinking this lovely wine to quench our thirst after vigorous and glorious lovemaking."

She shook her head at him in amusement, "And how are we to drink this lovely wine? We've no glasses."

He quirked an eyebrow at her and offered her the bottle, "I would think that considering what we've done, sharing a bottle would be minor."

She took the bottle and a sip. He leaned back against the wall and settled on the mattress beside her, drawing her between his legs and against his chest. Taking the bottle from her, he took a slightly more generous sip of the wine.

She snuggled down against his chest and caressed his shoulder lightly, "We need to go to our rooms. We can't possibly go to sleep here."

"We won't," he said decisively, running his hand down her arm, "or at least, I won't. I don't want to miss a moment of being with you." He took another generous sip and then handed the bottle back to her. She took a sip that matched his.

"Steady," he said, taking the bottle from her, "That's fairly strong."

"I am not…"

"Yes," he said patiently, "I know you are not a child. You need a new line, love. I was just suggesting you be careful."

She looked at him with mild indignation which he met with a kiss. While she returned the kiss with vigor, she snatched the bottle from his grasp. Smiling at him in defiance, she leaned back to take another sip. With her neck exposed, he bent his head to nibble lightly along the muscles there. The bottle came away from her lips, and she sighed in pleasure. His hand snaked up to remove the bottle from her hand, and he held it out of her reach for a moment before setting it on the floor beside the mattress.

She stretched across him to reach the bottle, but he caught her wrist and distracted her with another kiss. Laughing against his lips, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and shifted her legs so that she could sit astride his waist.

"Are you trying to distract me, Miss Hughes?" he laughed softly.

She leaned forward, rubbing her breasts against his chest, "Is it working?"

"It would work a bit better if I hadn't drunk so much of that punch," he answered ruefully, returning her kiss with interest.

"Oh," she said, "I had hoped that if we weren't going to sleep…"

He smiled at the note of disappointment in her voice, "Six months, love," when she looked at him in confusion, he said, "It will be six months at least before we see each other again. I want to enjoy every minute of this night."

She lay down against his chest with a sigh, "Six months is such a long time. Are you sure you couldn't pack me into one of the trunks and take me along?"

"Mmmm," he agreed, tracing slow circles on her back, "That sounds like an excellent idea. I would have to make some holes in the trunk though, and you might come out a little wrinkled. And, of course, there would be the kidnapping charge once someone realized you were missing and that I had a heavy trunk with air holes in it."

"Heavy?" she asked in indignation.

"Not that heavy," he soothed, "As you can see, I'm fully capable of supporting you." To prove his point, he lifted his hips and her off the mattress.

"It really would be best for me to stay here, wouldn't it?" she asked in resignation, tracing his lips with the tips of her fingers.

He sighed, kissing her fingers lightly, "It would. I very much want you to come with me now, but I can't think of any way to make it happen, and even if you did, I will likely be gone for most of that six months."

"What sort of trip is going to take Lord Downton away for that long?"

"A trip to America to find a rich bride," he answered with a sad smile.

She laid her head back on his shoulder, "I would have thought an Earl could marry who, when, and where he wanted."

"He's not as fortunate as us," he said, smoothing her hair down, "we just have to wait until I've returned, as long as you don't mind being married to a valet that is."

"I don't know about being married to just any valet, but I don't mind being married to Charles Carson at all."

"Not at all?" he asked, "Even if we're living in just a couple of small rooms and falling all over each other?"

"I believe that you said you wouldn't mind falling all over me," she said and pressed against him to grasp the wine again, "And I certainly don't mind falling all over you."

"I'm going to have to work very hard," he smiled at her as she took a long sip of wine and then took the bottle from her.

"Why would that be?" she asked and waited impatiently for his answer while he took a sip to match hers.

He wiggled his eyebrows at her and sat the bottle beside the mattress again to her frustration, "If we're falling all over each other all the time, there are certain to be lots of little Carsons and soon."

He leaned forward to kiss her and met her cheek instead of her lips at the quick turn of her head. Looking at her in confusion, he saw the wrinkle of concern on her forehead. "What is it, love? Are you worried I won't be able to support you?"

"It's not that," she said quickly, "It's just that…Are children very important to you Charles?"

"Well," he said, "I never really gave much thought to having any until I met you. That is the natural consequence of being married and making love on a regular basis though. And I think I would like to have a little girl or two who look like their mother and I suppose a boy. Why does this bother you so much?"

She took a deep breath and blew it out her nose before beginning deliberately, "I don't know if I can have children, at least not children that live. My mother had at least four miscarriages. Two between my sister and me, and then two more before my brother was born. I think each one broke her heart a little more. She didn't want more children after my brother died, but my father was insistent. He wanted a son. When she miscarried again, she just stopped. Everything. It was like not even having a mother. That was when my father became more…"

He pulled her tightly against his chest, "Elsie, love, if you can't or don't want to have children, then we won't. I would never insist that you put yourself through that. You are more important to me than dozens of children."

"But how would we…," she asked, "As you said yourself, it is a natural consequence of," she looked down shyly, "making love. I couldn't ask you and I wouldn't want, that is, I would want…"

He cut her off with fingers over her lips, "I'm glad that you would want to make love, but there are ways to prevent the consequences. Not perfect ways, but…"

"How?" she looked at him, interested now.

He blushed under the scrutiny of her gaze and stuttered, "Um, ah, perhaps that conversation is better left until after we're married."

She narrowed his eyes at him, "Charles Carson, I am completely naked sitting on your equally naked lap. I can't think of anything you couldn't discuss with me."

"Very well, then," he grabbed the bottle for another quick swallow, and she took it from him before he could set it back on the floor. He met her gaze steadily, "When we make love, before I finish, I could pull back so that there would be no risk."

She took a swallow of wine herself and was obviously trying to work things out in her mind. He couldn't help but blush under her thoughtful gaze. "But if you pull back then there wouldn't be any pleasure for you, would there?"

He found he couldn't quite meet her eyes, "Well, I would just finish things off myself."

She continued to look at him questioningly for long enough that he blurted out, "With my hand, Elsie! I would…"

"Oh, I see," she cut him off quickly, her cheeks crimson now, "but would that satisfy you?"

"It wouldn't be perfect," he conceded, "but it would do. It will have to do these next six months at least," he added under his breath.

Her mouth parted, and she looked at him in surprise, "You mean that you will…? While we're apart?"

"It's not some terrible thing," he said indignantly, "A man needs release from time to time. And I certainly never want another woman."

"Well, at least you'll have that," she said, taking another sip of the wine, "I'll just have to suffer."

"It's not as though you couldn't…" he said, then gave her a probing look, "Do you mean to tell me you've never touched yourself? Explored?"

She looked at him for a moment as though he'd grown a second head before shaking her head slowly. He smiled, took the bottle from her and pushed her off him to lie back on the mattress. Shifting so that he could lie beside her propped on his elbow, he asked, "Would you mind if I show you something?"

She shook her head and licked her lips, her hand tracing patterns in the tiny hairs on the back of his wrist. Unable to resist the invitation, he bent to kiss her and then whispered against her lips, "There is a small part of me that would very much like to imagine you touching yourself in this way while I am doing the same."

She smiled, "Not so small, I think," and pressed her leg against the part in question. He nodded his head with a smile in acknowledgement of her joke then lifted his hand to trace circles around her breasts with the tips of his fingers. Her lips parted in pleasure, and her eyes drifted shut. Letting his hand trail down from her breasts to her abdomen, he made slowly widening circles. Then he stopped for a moment and smiled at the quick opening of her eyes as she looked at him questioningly.

"Put your hand on mine," he said with a soft note of command. She hesitated only a moment before doing as he asked. He continued with his slow circles until their hands brushed across the coarse hairs nearing her center. Her hand pulled back suddenly, and he simply stopped his exploration until she let her hand come back to rest on top of his. Making sure that her smaller fingers rested on top of his, he moved lower and said, "There is a spot that will give you the most pleasure. Do you remember earlier? When I kissed you here?" He let his and her middle finger pass just beside the small bud. She nodded and let out a soft moan, head twisting to the side.

"You must be gentle because it is very sensitive," he said and let his finger flick across it, spreading the folds gently. When she moaned again and opened her eyes to look at him, he moved his finger lower, "It might feel better if you started to stroke yourself a little farther away and then worked toward the most sensitive part." The feeling of her fingers resting over his started to arouse him even more. He began to quicken the pace of his strokes and swirled their fingers in a slow circle around her center drawing nearer with each pass. There was no need to ask her how she felt, the moisture over his hand and her rapid breathing let him know that she was appreciating his efforts. When the circles his fingers made finally reached her center again, he flicked his middle finger over it one time before sliding his hand away from hers. He watched as she touched herself for just one moment and groaned. Lifting himself over her, he pushed into her throbbing, moist folds again and began to thrust with abandon. She cried out softly before he covered her mouth with a kiss, and he felt her rhythmic waves drawing him to his own release.

He stopped, exhausted after a few more frantic thrusts, panting for breath. Before he withdrew and collapsed at her side, he whispered in her ear, "When you do that at night, I want you to think of me, and you will know that I'm thinking of you as well."

Lying by her side, he drew her closer and closed his eyes, still a little short of breath. Before he drifted into an exhausted sleep, he heard her say softly, "Charles, my love, I will be thinking of you often."

He knew then that this was the best trip of her life as well.

_**Reviews are welcome as always.**_


	19. Dreams turning to nightmares

**Sorry about the huge time jump here. Fellowes made me do it. I will go back and fill in the past in the next part of this story arc which will be '**_**St. George's Day**__**'**_**. **

**Downton Abbey 1902**

In his dream he could hear her quiet words, "Charles, my love, I will be thinking of you often." Her small head was snugged tightly against his shoulder and her soft breaths brushed the hair on his chest. Then, with a start, Charles woke in a cold sweat and with tears stinging his eyes. He swung his feet over the edge of the bed and crossed the room in a single stride to splash tepid water on his face. With a shaking hand, he took a long drink of equally tepid water to wash down the lump in his throat. Sinking down in his armchair, he tried to gather his thoughts. He hated this dream if for no other reason than he had to wake to a life without her. The decision to not take her with him when he left Holbrook House twelve years ago still haunted him. What earthly good had he thought waiting six months would do? If he had stopped the carriage as they pulled away and scooped her up as he'd wanted, his life would be so very different now. As it was, he wasn't completely miserable, but he was close. His life was not that terrible most of the time, as long as he could avoid thinking of her. It was just that when he did think of her, he knew how much better, fuller, and brighter his life would have been. Perhaps there would have been children, but more importantly there would have been her. She would have been there to share all his successes and failures. They might have stayed on at Downton, but in his dreams he usually saw them running a small shop, closing up at the end of the day to make their way to their rooms above. A smile ghosted over his lips as he thought that at least some of the time they would likely not make it up to their rooms before he teased her out of her clothes. The smile faded when he felt the familiar tightening in his groin. That was not something he felt like dealing with right now.

He determinedly pushed his thoughts down other paths and rose to dress. No use in trying to sleep now. He might as well get a start on the day. It would be a busy one. Mrs. Dunmore had finally hired a new head housemaid. Perhaps this one would be a little less flighty and more prone to keep her hands to herself. The previous girl had been slow to take the hints that he was completely uninterested, and he had finally had to discuss the situation with Mrs. Dunmore which was highly embarrassing. With a sigh, he wondered if he should have taken her up on her obvious offers. In his heart, though, he knew there would never be another woman for him but Elsie Hughes. He had been as chaste as a monk these twelve years.

Standing before the mirror half-dressed, he studied his face and figure carefully. He was a couple of stones heavier than he had been when he met her. Sucking in his stomach, he thought perhaps he should skip pudding tonight, but then he thought Mrs. Patmore might make apple tart so perhaps he would just skip it tomorrow night. His eyes lifted to examine his frowning face. He had carefully cultivated the image of the stern butler over the years. It was important to him to be respected. There was honor in working in a fine house like this one, and he made every effort to project the dignity that his position required. That he was stern and avoided any personal connections with the other staff could be excused by that dignity, not that he was afraid of anyone else wounding him the way that she had. He shook his head at his reflection. There had been anger at first, after the hurt. Now, he felt nothing but a vague sense of loss, most of the time except for when he had The Dream.

As he drew the razor down his soapy cheek and then lifted his chin to clear the stubble from his neck, he could almost feel a pair of soft lips soothing the irritated skin there. His hand jumped enough that he nicked his skin. With a sharp, muttered curse, he dropped his razor and dabbed at the cut with a towel. He grimaced at his own clumsiness. Now he'd have to wait for the bleeding to be completely stopped. Unfortunately, waiting gave him even more time to think and remember. He could remember every moment of their night together, and not just the lovemaking; he could recall every moment of those four days, at least every moment he spent with her. Most of the anger he had now was directed at the silly boy he'd been, so determined not to hurt her and then being hurt so badly by her. She had seemed like such an innocent and sincere in her love for him. He had believed her completely, fool that he'd been. If only he'd followed his first instinct and avoided her altogether or bedded her as quickly as possible all of this heartache could have been avoided. But then if he had done that he would have no memories or fantasies to sustain him through long, cold winter nights.

He made it through the morning hours somewhat automatically, distracted by his thoughts of her. There were no guests and the Earl and his wife were easy enough to tend to, even if she did occasionally join him for breakfast. Charles still thought Americans were odd, but even he had to admit that his Lordship had made an excellent choice. He also knew from personal experience that the money woes of Downton were a thing of the past.

Charles retreated to his pantry following breakfast with the excuse of wanting to polish some of the finer pieces himself. He was certain that the monotonous task of polishing silver would help to take his mind off of his past. Working the cloth slowly over and around the pattern, he was so engrossed in his thoughts that he jumped at the knock on his door. Mentally he cursed himself for not remembering that the new housemaid was to come today. That would no doubt be Mrs. Dunmore wishing to introduce her, and it would have been much more appropriate to greet her in his livery as opposed to wearing an apron with silver polish on his hands.

Fixing his sternest frown on his face, he turned to greet the new addition to the household and met a familiar pair of blue eyes. All of his training couldn't stop his shocked reaction, "Elsie!"

Mrs. Dunmore looked sharply at him and then at the new head housemaid who had an equally surprised expression on her face, "Mr. Carson, do you already know our new head housemaid? Although I had understood your name was Bess, dear." This last comment was directed at the speechless Scotch lass.

Charles regained his composure first, "We did meet once, briefly, many years ago, Mrs. Dunmore. At Holbrook House, I believe it was, Miss Hughes?"

To her credit, her voice was quite steady when she answered, "Indeed it was, Mr. Carson, a very long time ago, a lifetime in fact. I would never have thought you would still be at Downton, and as butler. You were a valet when we last met."

"Where else would I be but at Downton?" he asked and added to himself, _Certainly not running a shop with my beautiful Scottish lass, _and then he continued out loud, "Time brings many changes, Miss Hughes."

"It does that, Mr. Carson," she said, meeting his gaze steadily.

Mrs. Dunmore took in this exchange quietly, and Charles was almost certain there would be questions raised when they had their end of day meeting. He was not looking forward to having to lie about his previous relationship with Elsie to her.

"We'll be getting on, then, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Dunmore said briskly, "I just wanted her to meet you. No doubt you'll see very little of each other, but she needs to know who's who." She turned on her heel and shooed Elsie out his door.

They were gone so quickly that Charles could almost believe he'd imagined the whole exchange, but when he crossed to close the door with a shaking hand, he caught a whiff of lavender and lemon that twelve years had not erased from his memory. He shut the door and then registered something sharp cutting into his hand. Looking down he saw that he'd gripped the serving spoon that he'd been holding so tightly that the handle was bent into the shape of his fist.

His mind was filled with questions that might never get answered. _What on earth had possessed her to come to Downton of all places? Had she known he would be here? And most importantly, where had she been these twelve years?_

One thing was certain; it seemed that he was going to begin another journey that he wanted desperately to avoid.

**The End (to be continued soon in **_**St. George's Day**__**)**_

_**Reviews are welcome. I am glad that an ocean separates me from kouw or else I'd worry for my safety. If you are worried about how this will end, please see my profile page.**_


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